The Forgotten
by Gre3nleaf
Summary: It's a father's duty to protect his child, but when Thranduil is taken captive and young Legolas is left to find him, the roles may just have to be reversed.
1. Bluebirds

**The Forgotten**

**A/N: New story alert! It's definitely been a while. Nevertheless, I have been working on this one since the summer, and all (11) chapters are completed, so there is no way this will be left unfinished. **

**Also pretty much my first shot at something that isn't fluff, fluff, and even **_**more**_** fluff...! Of course, there are many sweet moments, but a lot is just angst and hurt/comfort, that sorta thing. This is totally not something I'm used to writing - especially as it *gasp* has**_** an actual plot**_** \- so please bear with me and forgive any errors I've made... anywhere. Lol. All that aside, I really do hope you enjoy this. Chapters will follow quickly. And... **_**please**_** review?! Thanks!**

* * *

There was a nest of bluebirds in the apple tree hanging over the King of Greenwood's balcony.

It was a family of five. Thranduil knew because he went outside every morning to feed them pieces of fruit from the bowl on his table. For some reason he could not quite understand, they gave him the peace and confidence that he needed to be able to walk out of his bedroom door and face his kingdom every morning after waking up alone.

Alone. It was not a foreign word to him. He had been living without his wife for many years, and he had become used to the coldness of the empty space beside him in bed, and the silence of his room, and the loss of the distinct smell of her lavender perfume constantly lingering in the air. He missed her like the moon missed the sun at night, and he would not stop missing her until he sailed to Valinor or was able to see her again in the Halls of Mandos, but in the time since he had lost her to those cursed creatures, he had learned to live like she would have wanted him to live. She had, after all, left him their son to care for, and through loving him the King had righted himself on the path to healing.

Of course, it had all been dreadful at first, and for many years Greenwood had done nothing but grieve with their broken monarch, but Thranduil had made the decision at some point that his little son was growing, and for him to grow in a world that only knew grief and sorrow was unacceptable to him. So, he had tried. And through trying he had gotten better. That was all he could do.

Today marked four hundred and eighty-three years since the Queen of Greenwood was taken from him, killed by a band of orcs on her way to visit a friend and show her the delight that was her new-born son. Legolas was lucky to have survived. Everyone else had perished, save for a couple elves who had passed from devastating injuries after returning home, and one who had barely scraped by with a few cuts and bruises. He was Arandur, and Thranduil believed that Eru himself had been thinking of him when he spared his life. Arandur was not only a warrior, the Captain of the Guard and the elf who had brought his baby back home safely, but he was a trusted advisor of the King and one of his closest friends. He had him to thank for much, not simply for Legolas's life but for pulling him out of endless times in which he'd gotten his head so far under dark, mirky water that he was drowning.

Thranduil had handed his son over to Arandur whenever anything to do with training and sword fighting came into the picture. The ellon was a famous warrior throughout Greenwood, and if anybody was going to teach Legolas how to survive, it was him. He needed that, after losing his wife. He needed to know that his elfling – even though he had gone beyond the years of an elfling, now – was safe wherever he was, and all the skills he had learnt to this day was because Arandur had taught him. Nobody else.

The bluebirds. He'd named them all, once, though he couldn't quite remember them anymore. There had been a 'Cuilwen', he was sure of it, but that had been the name his wife had given to the mother bird, and so it must have been one of the earlier families that nested there. It was strange, really, how the bluebirds never left the nest unlived in. When the parents died, one of the fledglings would take over, and then they would have babies, and so on. Most unlike bluebirds. Maybe it was because of the fruit they always expected from the King. After his wife died, there was nobody to do it, and so he had had to take over. Another of his kingly duties, he supposed, though he highly doubted feeding birds could be counted as a difficult task.

It was grapes, today. Grapes for the little bluebirds and their three babies, all huddled on their branch, the warmth of Anor beating down on them and making their azure feathers sparkle in the light. "Yes, yes," he said quietly, hearing the chirps grow louder as he pushed open the glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony, bunch of green grapes in his hand, "your breakfast is coming." He moved over to the tree and placed a few grapes into the nest, watching for a moment as the parents helped themselves before pecking at the fruit and dropping small mouthfuls into their babies' little beaks.

Four hundred and eighty-three years. He sighed, head lifted, eyes closed, breathing in the fresh air of the new day. He used to hate this day. Despise it. Long for each year to skip it so he did not have to think about it when it arrived. But then Legolas had started asking after his nana, and Thranduil realised with an aching heart that his little son was beginning to forget all he knew of her. So, he had marked this day as the Queen's Day; a day to remember and celebrate beautiful Alassiel, wife of Thranduil and mother to Legolas. It was still painful for him, but he would rather his love be mourned through celebrations than through utter grief and devastation. The elleth had always been such a joyful spirit, and he knew that this was what she would have wanted – to celebrate the life she had loved through small festivities throughout the day, and a display of fireworks and stories around the fire in the evening.

The King sighed, stealing one more glance at the happy nest of bluebirds before turning and heading back indoors. He had had half a mind to ask someone to bring his breakfast up to his room so he could have some time to himself before the day ahead, but he always made a point of seeing his son as soon as he could on these days. They were, after all, 'in it together', as they said.

* * *

"Ada." Thranduil was greeted by Legolas as he walked into the dining hall. The young ellon was smiling warmly, despite his obvious knowledge on what day it was, and dressed in the colours of the woods. The sight of him alone made the butterflies in his stomach drop dead.

"Legolas," he said, his own smile lighting up his face. He embraced his son, holding him tightly in his arms and lingering for a little longer than usual, taking in his scent and the feeling of him in his arms… sometimes, he needed the reminder that he was still alive and hadn't been taken all those years ago with Alassiel. It was often difficult to remember. He pat his back before stepping away, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Did you sleep well?"

Legolas nodded. "I did, hannon le. And you?"

"Very well. Have you had breakfast?"

"Not yet. I was waiting for you." The Prince smiled, reaching up to pat the hand on his shoulder. He looked his father in the eyes for a brief moment, surveying the ice orbs and watching out for any sign that he was not as alright as he looked to be. It seemed to be a daily thing for him – making sure his father was okay without asking and causing unnecessary trouble. If he was alright, then so was he. "Shall we sit?"

Thranduil nodded, smiling warmly and following Legolas towards the breakfast table standing in the middle of the room. Food was already being laid out, and he was quite sure his son had begun speaking to him, but he found that he could not stop his eyes from straying over to the chair on the left of his. Legolas sat on the right. Alassiel had always sat on the left. Blue eyes turned clear with reminiscence and his face fell as he thought about her for a moment, the memory of her beautiful form rich in his mind. He reached his chair and stretched his hand out, touching the wooden top of his wife's.

"Ada?"

He started, blinking rapidly before turning fully towards his son. He was looking at him with watchful eyes, his face showing no sign that he'd had a problem with how his father had disappeared into a little world of nostalgia for a few moments. He smiled. "How are you today?" he asked for the second time, watching as Thranduil sat in his chair, a little dazed for a moment before reaching out for a slice of toast.

The King nodded. "I… am alright," he said. "As far as today goes, at least."

"Of course." Legolas took a bite of the breakfast on his plate. "What are your plans for the day?"

Thranduil glanced up, briefly trying to work his mind to think about what he'd done this time last year while the whole of Greenwood bustled about and got everything ready for the evening's celebrations. Perhaps he had stayed in his study, 'working'. Or maybe he had taken a walk in the forest. Alassiel had loved the forest.

"Good morning, my lords!"

The new voice which echoed around the breakfast hall was surprisingly welcome for both father and son. Though they always appreciated each other's company, it was often difficult to remain at ease with each other when discussing anything even remotely close to their wife and mother. It helped to have someone else with them; someone who could bring them back to reality simply by their presence.

Legolas looked over at the door, smile immediately widening at the sight of who'd just made _his_ presence vastly known. "Arandur," he said, "Ada and I had hoped we would get at least another five minutes without you here to dull our day."

The dark-haired elf laughed; a musical sound which never failed to brighten someone's day. "Of course you did," he said with a smile, and Legolas noticed that he was being followed by several of his own warriors. "I do apologise for being late. Morning training went over time a lot more than it should have, but we are here, now, and we are hungry. What is on the menu this morning, my king?" He directed his attention towards Thranduil, who answered with a short chuckle. No doubts about it, the King's closest friend, advisor and Captain of the Guard was only putting on this show of exaggerated happiness because he knew it would lift his mood a little. Knowing each other for thousands of years definitely had its benefits, one being that they were able to read each other perhaps a little too much. The mood Arandur walked into the breakfast hall every morning with all depended on the day – or, more specifically, Thranduil's day.

"No matter, mellon nin," Thranduil said. "I am glad you are here. Please, sit down. All of you." He smiled at the warriors who had just entered the hall, and they bowed their heads slightly before sitting. Arandur sat next to Legolas, immediately reaching for the plate of rolls.

"Are we still going on our ride, Legolas?" he asked, and the Prince nodded.

"Of course. We've been planning this since last week."

Arandur smiled. It was obvious he would not have changed his mind about going out on a ride; Legolas was practically born a horseman – or horse_elf_, as he had called himself as an elfling – and any chance he could get to jump into the saddle, he took. He did believe it also had something to do with the day's organisations, however. Though Legolas put on a straight face, it was always for his father, never for himself, and staying in the Kingdom would lead him to fear of ripping off the mask and breaking down. He would have been lying if he said it had not happened before. Four hundred and eighty-three years had given him time to become practically immune to his own feelings, though he still worried about it sometimes. "Alright, though training will commence as usual, still, yes? We will have to move to a different field so as not to interrupt the preparations for tonight, but I do not want you to miss it."

The blond took a bite from a blueberry muffin. "We can train after breakfast."

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, glass in his hand, and looked over at his son. "What ride is this, hm?"

"We are riding to the waterfall," Legolas replied. "Would you like to come?"

He would have said no on any other day. The waterfall was only one of many places dotted around Greenwood in which he'd taken his wife, and as much as he regretted it, those places were avoided as much as possible on his account. Nevertheless, racking his mind for an excuse on what he would be doing today was proving to be fruitless, and so a ride, wherever it was to, sounded rather… nice. Refreshing, almost. "I would love to accompany you," he said, smile easily reaching his eyes. "When do we leave?"

Legolas looked to Arandur. "After we have trained, let us say? That should be just before lunch time."

"Uh, Hir nin… what of the preparations for today?" Thranduil glanced across the table to where the voice had spoken from, seeing one of Arandur's warriors leaning slightly over so he could face him.

"They should not be disturbed because of my absence, Dûrion," he replied with a small nod. The dark-haired ellon hesitated for a moment – Thranduil figured he was simply worried about how the Kingdom would see to things with their monarch gone – before bowing his head respectfully, a slight, yet strained smile on his pale lips, and sitting back in his seat.

The rest of the morning meal was spent in more or less peaceful tranquillity. It passed quickly; quicker than Thranduil probably would have liked.

* * *

"Left, left, block, right, and block again! Good, Legolas. Very good." The Prince of Greenwood nodded his head in thanks at Arandur's praise. The two were training in the gardens, making good use of the sunny weather before they headed off on their trip to the waterfall. As Thranduil had said, he trusted nobody but Arandur to train his son well with both the sword and the bow, and the warrior had been proudly doing it since Legolas had been but an elfling. Each day, the elder ellon managed to find something new that the younger had picked up during that session, and each day he grew prouder. With every strike, every block, and every parry, Legolas was proving to be more and more like his father. It was no secret that he would soon be the most skilled swordsman – and bowman, for that matter – in the Kingdom, and quite possibly Middle-earth.

"Again," he told him, lifting his sword and waiting for his opponent to mirror his actions. Legolas was doing well this session, albeit being a little quieter. Admittedly, Arandur was beginning to grow a small amount of concern for his student's lack of witty remarks and such that he usually spewed out like a fountain… this time, he seemed to be radiating something darker. Anger. His face was grimmer than usual, blue eyes narrowed more than they typically were during a training session, sparring a little overly powerful, and the warrior did not have to delve too deep into his thoughts to figure out the meaning behind it all. Though Legolas acted as though he was fine this time of the year and he was coping well with the situation, one did not have to think twice about how much he was _pretending_. The young Prince often thought himself some sort of protector of his father, meaning, apparently, he had to keep most of his emotions at bay and out of sight. His logic was that if he acted as though things were okay, then it would pass onto Thranduil and ensure he felt the same… which, admittedly, it did, but the King usually did it simply to make his son aware of the pretence fact that his efforts to please his father were not in vain. Both he and Arandur wished there was a way they could discreetly let him know that it was okay not to pretend. It wasn't like he hadn't lost his own _mother_, no matter how much he knew her.

Both elves were moving swiftly across the grass, making no sound except for the clang of metal hitting metal. Arandur's eyes were fiercely fixed on Legolas's, watching as those blue pools turned to harsh ice in seconds after he brought his sword back down onto his own in a gleaming clash. "Alright," he shouted, blocking it, "enough." He dropped his arm, letting his sword hang loosely by his side, but immediately let a loud noise of both protest and surprise escape his lips as he was forced to shoot it back up again in order to block yet anther powerful strike from Legolas. Eyebrows knitted together, he pushed with all his might, watching as the blond staggered backwards. "_Princeling!_" he practically thundered, waiting to see if Legolas would charge for him. Thankfully, he didn't, choosing to stay where he'd stumbled back to and lean over, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Arandur was faring no different, staring at the ellon with a complete mix of both confusion, shock and rage. "_What_ was that?" he questioned once he'd somewhat regained both his breath and composure.

Legolas stayed silent for a moment. His sword glinted in the light, an almost taunting signal. After a moment, he swallowed thickly and straightened, mouth parted slightly, eyes swimming with nothing other than guilt. "Ara," he said, voice almost hoarse, "I am so sorry. Goheno nin, Ara. Please. Goheno nin."

The elder stood still, considering the ellon in front of him, looking dejected and broken, with sad golden eyes. He shook his head, throwing his sword to the ground and opening his arms. Legolas did not need to be asked even once. Tossing his own weapon to the soft ground he paced quickly over to his mentor, crashing into his chest and wrapping his arms around him. Arandur sighed, feeling the Prince rest his head against his shoulder.

Legolas took in a shaky breath, and Arandur shut his eyes. "Just cry, Legolas. Let it go. _Please_."

He did not cry. Tears pricked his eyes, but he could not bring himself to let them fall. He supposed stubbornness was a trait he had inherited from his father, though he'd been told his mother had also possessed a persistent streak. What he would give to have the ability to know.

He did not cry.

Thranduil watched, sorrowfully, on the balcony of his room, right above Arandur and Legolas's training grounds. How breaking it was… to see your own son so defeated he was unable to cry.

* * *

**(Any Elvish used in the chapters will be translated at the end!)**

**Elvish used:**

**Nana - Mum**

**Ada - Dad**

**Hannon le - Thank you**

**Mellon nin - My friend**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Goheno nin - Forgive me**


	2. A Beautiful Distraction

The sun was hot on the elves riding through the forest, her rays beating down on their backs and making their horses' coats shine in the morning light. The trees surrounding them rustled in the warm breeze, green and brown leaves toppling off and floating down to the soft ground where they lay, surrounded by wildflowers and mounds of dew-dropped blades of emerald, dancing in the wind and attempting to avoid being clobbered on by the tens of hooves moving through the verdant pathway in the forest.

There were five warriors riding with Legolas and Thranduil, including Arandur. Two rode behind, one ahead, and the remaining two flanked the King and the Prince, keeping their respectful distance yet still ensuring they were near enough to protect the two lords. Arandur rode on Thranduil's left, though he was closer to them than the others were, a huge smile on his face while he chatted with father and son. The ride to the waterfall was not a short one – around three hours on foot; they scraped by two at a walking pace on their horses – but despite the journey time, it was a distraction. A beautiful distraction. And Thranduil was grateful.

The sweet sound of hooves crunching on the spring leaves was blissfully accompanied by the almost hypnotic chirping of birds in their nests up above. The King could not help but lift his head a little and cast his ice-blue eyes to the emerald canopies above and the white wisps of cloud which floated in an otherwise clear sky. For a moment, his mind blocked out the chattering voices of the elves around him and focused entirely on those sounds. The birds, the leaves rustling, the cool breeze rushing past his ears, the hundreds of insects buzzing and humming as they hid in the evergreen… it was a peace he did not get often enough. Nevertheless, this brief serendipity was soon blown away faster than the squirrels which scampered up tree trunks as they passed.

"What do you think, Ada?" Legolas sounded from his right, and he quickly turned his head to face his son.

"I apologise," he said almost sheepishly, "but I'm afraid I was distracted for a moment and did not hear what you said."

The Prince smiled, waving his father's apology off. "Ah, Ara and I were merely discussing who we believe will be the winner of tonight's archery contest." He shot the dark-haired elf riding on the other side of Thranduil a look. "He, quite egotistically, if I do say so myself, thinks it will be him, while I-"

"_Also_ extremely egotistically," Arandur interrupted.

"-think it will be me!"

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle. As much as Arandur was Legolas's mentor and teacher, it was clear as day that those titles did not stand in the way of him becoming the other's close friend. The age difference between them had no say in it whatsoever – that and the fact that the elder could easily be mistaken for an ellon of around Legolas's age at times – and for that, Thranduil felt relief sweep his heart. Arandur was his best friend, advisor, Captain of the Guard, and his son's saviour, and that was more than enough for him to deserve a friend in Legolas, also. The closer they were, the better chance they had at helping each other.

Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, the King glanced at Legolas. "And what makes you think it will not be me?"

It was silent for the shortest of moments, the crickets in the surrounding bushes doing wonderfully in their job as Thranduil gazed knowingly at his son, the hint of a smile on his lips, while Legolas stared back, apparently thinking of some way he could reply.

"I bet Legolas will beat you this year." Of course, Arandur would be the one to say that, Thranduil couldn't help but muse as he rolled his eyes before turning to meet the challenging gaze of his best friend. The dark-haired warrior shrugged, steering his horse around a log. "It is not impossible," he insisted.

Legolas made a face that could only be described as questionable as he leaned forward to peer around his father. "Impossible enough that you are going to lose all your money if you go ahead with this."

"Have more faith in yourself!" Arandur scoffed.

"I do have faith in myself." The blond resumed his position in the saddle and shifted a little. "Just not in an archery match against my adar, who also happens to be the King of Greenwood and one of the most talented archers in Middle-earth."

Thranduil's eyes widened and he dipped his head a little. "I never knew you thought so highly of me."

"Oh, enough of this!" The remaining four warriors situated around the two lords gained smiles of their own as their Captain turned in his seat, pointing at each one. "Are you willing to put money into this bet, Eredhion? Andaer?" At a vehement shake of the head from one and a gesture of surrender from the other, Arandur huffed and peered round Legolas and Thranduil to the warrior stationed on the Prince's right-hand side. "Lairion," he said, putting on a look which consisted of both a sweet smile and what the humans would call 'puppy-dog eyes', which immediately sent Legolas into a laughing fit, "would you be so kind as to help me out, here? Please?"

The young ellon shook his head in defeat, smiling fondly. "Only if you promise to pay me back if we lose."

"Deal!" Arandur threw his hands in the air, his horse's reins falling to the bottom of the chestnut mare's neck, and both Legolas and Thranduil glanced to each other, giving one another a look which Arandur only seemed to understand when he realised what he'd just agreed to, dropped his hands to his sides, furrowed his eyebrows together and stared ahead of him. "Wait, what?"

"Hir nin, we should probably scope out the area ahead to ensure the waterfall's surroundings are safe." Nobody had time to laugh at Arandur's cluelessness before Dûrion, who was riding at the head of the group, turned in his saddle to address the rest of the group. Thranduil's smile softened, almost disappearing entirely, and he nodded once.

"Go ahead, Dûrion. We shall remain here." He halted his horse, immediately signalling the other elves to do the same, and watched as Dûrion turned his eyes back to the path ahead of him and kicked his stallion into a trot, soon disappearing behind the mountainous trees and bushes. Legolas immediately leaped off his horse, landing on his feet and patting the beast's sturdy neck.

"Good boy, Aeglos," he murmured, and the horse moved to graze at a nearby patch of grass. Meanwhile, the Prince turned in the other direction, looking down among the wildflowers, one hand perched aimlessly upon his hip. Thranduil frowned and looked at Arandur, glad to see that his friend seemed just as confused.

"Flowers for a bouquet." Thankfully, their answer came without needing to ask the question, and it tugged a little at both elves' hearts. The three remaining warriors besides Arandur split up and rode out to check the other surrounding areas. The waterfall wasn't far at all, and though there had been no recent worrying sightings or otherwise to report from the patrols around the woods, it was mandatory that they check, anyway. After all, this was the monarch of their kingdom and his son and heir to the throne. If there was so much as a stag who looked ready to charge at him, a warrior would be there pierce the animal's heart before he had the chance to even wave his antlers at either of them.

There was no need to question why the bouquet was being made, and who it was for. Every year, Legolas went out and always came back with a bunch of fresh flowers from the woods. He would tie them up at the stalks to make a pretty garland of blues and pinks and yellows and whites, and then lay it at the bottom of his mother's memorial in the palace's gardens. The flowers lasted longer than most others in Middle-earth, the woods' magic helping them stay blossomed, and it was always a beautiful feature to Alassiel's monument. They helped keep her memory alive.

Thranduil did not hesitate before dismounting his own horse, letting her wander off to the same patch of grass Aeglos was currently munching on, and walking up to Legolas. "May I help?" he asked, offering his son a warm smile, and Legolas immediately mirrored it.

"Of course, Ada. Here – these are what I have found already. Perhaps we could look over there… ah! Those look nice!"

Arandur could not help but smile as he watched the two blonds crouch down in the long grass, pushing weeds and the like away to reach the beauties that were the wildflowers. He had not known Alassiel very well, having only been a young warrior under the commands of a different captain at the time, but from what he had heard from his best friend's mentions of her, he knew she had loved all things nature, flowers not least on her list. Seeing her husband and son work together to create something she would have loved had she been alive to see it was simply wonderful, and a warm feeling spread throughout his heart. How the two managed to stay so strong was a mystery even to him. Some could bend down in the meadow to pick flowers for their dead wife or mother and think nothing but mournful, grieving thoughts on it, but both Thranduil and Legolas clearly viewed it as a way they could connect with the elleth and do something together that reminded them of her, even if they didn't outrightly say it.

He sighed, lightly kicking his horse on so he could stand in the middle of the green pathway and have clear access to all areas around him. The stallion whinnied, plainly feeling as though there was no reason for him not to join his friends in eating, and Arandur chuckled, shaking his head fondly and reaching down to give the horse a pat on his neck. "Soon, mellon nin," he assured him. "Wait until we reach the waterfall, and then you shall have all the time you want to graze with the others. But, for now, we must stand guard, as you well know." The horse snorted and craned his neck back, giving a friendly nudge to the elf's boot, and he smiled. "Good boy."

A little time passed before the three warriors sent to scan the surrounding areas returned, all with news that everything was clear. Arandur nodded and turned his head towards where Dûrion had left around half an hour ago. Really, he should have sent one of the other three with him, as the waterfall was a much larger space which required more time to scope it – and its surroundings – out, but the ellon had always been a skilled and keen warrior who never typically missed anything, so the thought had never crossed his mind. Nevertheless, Thranduil and Legolas were coming to the end of their flower-picking, and he knew the King would soon think to ask when they were alright to leave. Thankfully, his ears picked up the sound of hooves approaching, and he sighed in relief when the black-haired ellon rounded the corner, trotting elegantly towards the small group. He nodded when Arandur rose a questioning eyebrow. "All clear," he told him.

The Captain reigned his horse in, turning him around and walking up to Thranduil and Legolas. "Are we ready?" he asked quietly, leaning down a little.

Thranduil stood to his feet. He mindlessly brushed some dirt and grass from the knees of his trousers and rearranged his hair somewhat before glancing up at Arandur and nodding. "I believe so. Legolas?"

An assortment of flowers was lifted not a moment later as Legolas got up from the ground and held it out for his father and Arandur to see. "Is this enough for Nana, do you think?"

"Yes," Arandur said after peering closely, "they are very beautiful. I am sure she would love them." Legolas smiled in response before moving past his father and towards Aeglos. The white beauty lifted his head when he sensed his rider approaching him, whinnying with a mouthful of grass. He bent down for another bite as the blond reached for the saddle pack and gingerly placed the bunch of flowers he'd picked and wrapped in a large dock leaf inside. Hand lingering on the pack for a few seconds longer, his mind was briefly filled with the image of the most beautiful elleth in the entirety of Middle-earth – long, silver locks cascading down her back in small ripples, eyes of the brightest blue, and a rosy smile which painted the sun in the sky. Of course, he couldn't remember what his mother looked like, but her portrait in his father's room helped immensely. It made him feel as though he _had_ known her.

Softly sighing to himself, he reached his leg to put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up onto the saddle, noticing his father doing the same with his mare in the corner of his eye. He turned his horse around and fell into step with both Thranduil and Arandur. "Let's go."

* * *

"Come on!"

"I am not jumping in."

"Yes, you most certainly _are_!"

"No, I most certainly am _not_."

"Oh, _please_… why not?"

"Because I am on _duty_, Legolas, and the moment I come _off_ duty, part of your protection is _gone_." Arandur stood opposite the Prince, both looking exact mirror images, save for the hair colour. They had their hands perched rather challengingly on their hips, scowls on their faces while they battled with their words. Thranduil was by his horse, feeding her apples from his saddle pack, head turned slightly so he could watch both ellyn argue about whether Arandur was going to go swimming with Legolas or not. A lazy smile was on his face, and he couldn't help but shake his head fondly when his son moved his arms to cross over his chest.

"The area is clear," he stated, "and Eredhion, Andaer, Dûrion and Lairion are warrior enough to fend off any dangerous squirrels or hedgehogs." A satisfied smirk crossed his lips as Arandur rolled his eyes.

"Go on, Captain." He turned to see Dûrion stood a way off, watching over the horses which had been let loose to roam in the meadow, knowing they would return at their masters' calls. "We are fine to keep watch ourselves."

Arandur had no time to answer before a hand clasped around the crook of his bent arm and hauled him closer towards the riverbank. He spun his head around just in time to see a flurry of blond hair and successfully managed to latch onto Legolas's wrist before he was pushed straight into the cold water. The remaining ellyn on land burst into laughter, Thranduil not least of all, as their captain and princr toppled over the edge, shouting at each other as soon as they broke the surface.

"How dare you push me!"

"You cannot say anything! You pulled me in, too!"

"I was not going to suffer alone!"

"Oh, cease your _whining_!"

Thranduil pat his horse's neck and watched as she ambled off to join the others, turning once she'd done so and shaking his head at the two in the water, still shoving each other and throwing petty insults like children. He could hear the warriors laughing as they started to disperse and situate themselves around the area so as to best keep guard, and the laughter easily mingled with the rushing of the waterfall above them and the birds singing in the sky.

The birds singing in the sky.

His ears had always picked up that sound – the bluebirds outside his door had taught him well – and his mind somehow made a point of finding it first as soon as he stepped outdoors. He'd heard their sweet chirping on the way to the waterfall, and when they'd first arrived, but, now, there was nothing. It was silent, as far as birds and all other wildlife went. Where were the crickets? The scampering of squirrels as they rushed up and down trees and across thin branches? The hopping bunnies which always seemed to make their presence known in this part of the forest? Save for the elves still laughing, and the horses still munching, there seemed to be a particular atmosphere surrounding them.

He shut his eyes and breathed out, focusing. The trees were panicking.

The urge to recheck their surroundings absently pulled at him, and he spun towards the pool of water at the bottom of the fall where his son and friend were. "Arandur," he called, beginning to walk towards them, "I think we should-"

_Pain_. That was all Thranduil could feel. It had come so suddenly that it had completely taken away his breath as he abruptly stopped, and his legs immediately felt as though every ounce of strength had seeped out of him. Eyes wide, he could not stop himself from falling to the ground, his own body weight too heavy for his legs to keep him upright. No coherent thought was making its way to his brain except pain. Agonising, shooting, _burning_ pain. In his leg. It was all in his right leg, completely paralysing it for a few moments and making his body go into overdrive as he crumbled to the floor, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at the injured limb. He fumbled around, searching for the source of the pain, and felt his heart skip a beat as his hand made contact with a long, wooden stick poking out from his leg. He had been shot.

* * *

It was the whistling that made Legolas stop and turn around. Ears pricked like a hound listening for his prey, he heard it before his father abruptly stopped speaking, and his sharp eyes immediately made contact with an arrow. It was clearly intended for one target and one target only, but unfortunately the reaction time between hearing the weapon and watching it sink into Thranduil's leg was too short a time for him to shout out a warning. Watching him collapse to the floor felt as though an arrow of his own had pierced his heart, but the shock of it did not take long to settle in before he was facing what looked to be fifteen or more beings jumping out from trees and bushes, brandishing swords and the like.

"Out!_ Quick!_" It was Arandur yanking on his wet tunic that pulled him out of his shock, and he instantly followed his lead in jumping through the water and scrambling onto the bank. Thankfully, they had both dropped their swords nearby, and they grabbed them up as they stumbled over the grass, wild eyes skimming over everything. On instinct, their eyes immediately searched for Thranduil, and both felt their hearts skip a couple beats at the sight of him curled up on the ground, clutching his leg. Dûrion was defending him, swinging his sword at whoever approached him, and that gave them enough piece of mind to jump into the middle of the fray, battling with their own swords.

"What in- _Valar's_ _name_\- is _this_?" Arandur shouted among the roars and in between his swings and parries as he made his way over to Andaer.

Andaer yelled as his sword intercepted his enemy's, and he grit his teeth together, shoving him away enough for Arandur to stab him through his neck. "I don't know!" he hollered back, immediately faced with two more opponents.

Arandur aimed another block and another stab before whirling around, desperate eyes searching for the rest of his small group. Legolas was a little further away, back to back with Eredhion as the two slashed at enemies with their swords, cutting and killing as much as their weapons would allow them. Even in the brief moment he spared watched them, he could see a large slice in Eredhion's sleeve, and a dark red substance beginning to tinge the fabric. Nevertheless, his watching was quickly cut short as more started coming at him, and he was forced to raise his sword once again.

As he twisted and danced along the grass, he attempted to find the others, however the number of ambushers was greatly overpowering, and he barely had time to let his eyes stray for less than a millisecond before he was being battered yet again. Tiredness was quickly settling over him, and he knew it was coming from the sheer wetness of his clothes – they were weighing him down, sticking to him and making it incredibly difficult to move. He could feel the water sloshing inside his heavy boots with every turn he made, and his soaked hair plastered his face, often rendering his vision completely useless. Legolas was more than likely facing the same obstacle.

He pulled harshly on his sword, yanking it out of his opponent's chest, and spun around, panting, just in time to both hear Lairion cry out in pain and watch him fall to the ground in a heap. All sense left him for a moment. "_NO!_" he screamed, charging towards the one who he had seen drive his weapon straight through his warrior's heart. Once he was close enough, he rose his sword and immediately ran it through his own heart before kicking him to the floor. He whipped his head down to face Lairion, and all redness drained from his face at the sight of him lying there, blood pooling around him, eyes wide and open, completely unmoving. Tears filled his eyes while he stood frozen, bloody hand tightening around the hilt of his sword and free hand clenching and unclenching with barely controlled fury.

It was only at this moment, when he lifted his head up to see who else would dare challenge him, that he realised there was barely anyone left apart from the couple Legolas and Andaer were still fighting. Knowing they could handle them together, he glanced quickly around for the others, eyes spotting the colours of Greenwood amongst the dark clothes of whoever the others were. He raced forward, falling, skidding on his knees and coming to a stop in front of Eredhion who was, thankfully, simply staring up at the sky, hand clutching his arm and breathing heavy. Arandur cupped the side of his face, turning him to face him. "Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly, helping him sit up, and Eredhion shook his head.

"Who on Arda are these people?" he asked quietly, eyes darting around him.

"That is what I would like to find out. Believe me."

"Ara! Arandur!" He looked up at the sound of his name, standing to his feet when he noticed Legolas racing towards him. He instinctively checked him over for any visible injuries before returning his eyes to his worried face. "Did you see them take him? He's not here! Where has he gone?"

He did not even need to ask who. Stepping to the side and walking briskly past him, Arandur walked into the middle of the make-shift battlefield, spinning around in a circle, panicked eyes searching for Thranduil.

He was not there.

Not that he could see, at least.

His sharp eyes looked past trees and in them, skimmed over the waterfall and the river both above and below it… all he could see was the bodies of those they had slain on the grassy floor, and his mind briefly registered the strangled cry of Eredhion as he found Lairion…

The King was gone.

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Ada - Dad**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Mellon nin - My friend**


	3. Hostage

"Adar! _Ada!_"

"Hir nin? Thranduil! Can you hear us?"

"Hir nin!"

"Ada? Where are you?!"

The voices of the Greenwood elves echoed around the forest. The light which had accompanied them that morning on the journey to the waterfall had all but gone, replaced by a dismal ambience which suffocated them like a blanket. Everything was as silent as before; there were no birds, no crickets… even the breeze seemed to have hushed itself for fear of disturbing the quietude.

Eredhion had remained at the waterfall to protect the horses and the supplies they'd brought with them. Having been closest to Lairion, he'd also asked to stay behind, and Legolas had agreed wholeheartedly. When he and the others had left him to begin their search, the auburn-haired ellon had been sat next to Lairion's covered body, head bowed and knees bent, the hilt of his sword clutched in his white-knuckled hand, the untouched bodies of the horde littered around him. Nobody had said anything.

They had searched for Dûrion among the dead, but there was no sign of him, and Arandur's best guess was that he had been taken alongside Thranduil. Of course, there was the possibility that he had indeed followed after them in order to reclaim the King, but Dûrion was not the type to suddenly gain the apparent inability to wait for his commander to tell him what the plan of action was. After all, where was the logic in unknowingly chasing after an outnumbering group of elves? It was unlikely that he would manage to find Thranduil and return him to the palace unscathed, and he knew that, so the former idea was still favoured.

"King Thranduil!"

Legolas stopped in his tracks, turning around and peering through any crack in the leaves he could find. His heart was racing a mile a minute, and he knew Arandur was staring at him worriedly as he bit his bottom lip, something he only ever did when he was anxious beyond measure. It really was no use. The Prince knew it, Arandur knew it, the remaining two warriors knew it… it was not as though the kidnappers would be hiding out in the branches. They would be a long way off, now, and the only way they had a chance at finding him was if they had more warriors to help widen the search. Legolas knew that these would be the words on Arandur's tongue when he heard him gently call his name, but he could not bring himself to heed them.

"Legolas-"

"I am going to go further ahead." Legolas didn't even bother turning to look at the ellon behind him as he briefly glanced at the sword in his hand before making to race off into the trees. Arandur's hand caught his wrist before he'd gotten far, tugging him back and turning him swiftly around to face him. He shook his head.

"You know that is not a good idea," he told him, voice unwavering even as he looked into those deep blue orbs, swimming with tears. "Your adar could be anywhere, now, and we are not even sure in which direction they took him… our best bet is to return home and gather reinforcements."

Legolas stared down at his boots, chest heaving. "But- but what if they come back?"

The elder sighed. Of course, the Prince would think of every single scenario. He most likely wanted to go home and round up all the warriors of the Kingdom to come and help in the search for their king, but, at the same time, he was worried about something happening here while they were gone. Perhaps Thranduil would get free, for example, and come back to the waterfall in hopes that they would still be there… he had been shot in the leg, after all, and that would require medical attention immediately. If none of his captors were going to do that, the King's life would depend entirely on the amount of time it took them to find him. That was, of course, if he wasn't dead already…

He shut his eyes and cleared his head. That was not the way to think, especially with Legolas standing right in front of him. Having not relinquished his hold on the blond's wrist, he pulled him into his arms, wrapping them around him and cradling the back of his head. "Andaer and Eredhion can stay here, if it will put your heart at ease. They can continue the search around the waterfall and look for anything which may point towards where they took him while we gather our warriors and healers and set out to search for him." He felt Legolas weakly nod against his chest, and he found himself bending his head slightly to press a brief kiss to his hair. "We _will_ find him, Legolas. I promise you. We will bring him home."

* * *

"_Ow, Ada! It hurts!"_

_Thranduil grimaced as he held the rag soaked in disinfectant over the small gash in Legolas's left arm. The little elfling was feebly tugging the wounded limb out of his father's hold and whining when he was so obviously unable to do so, in the end resorting to simply squirming on the wooden desk he was sat on. The King, meanwhile, continued to clean the blood from the fresh injury where he was kneeling in front of the desk, holding his son's wrist tightly._

"_Well, tithen lasse," he said without looking up, "perhaps this will teach you a little lesson about climbing trees, hm?" He briefly glanced up to see that Legolas was biting his lip, blue eyes fixed on his arm. He smiled. The small thing was clearly pondering his words._

"_I was only trying to get to the top," he explained quietly, absently swinging his legs._

_Thranduil chuckled lowly. "I gathered that. You did, after all, fall from one of the highest branches, did you not?"_

_Legolas shrugged. "Mhm…"_

"_No 'mhm's about it." Thranduil shifted slightly and dabbed a little more at the cut. "That is exactly what happened."_

_Legolas flinched, subconsciously tugging his arm yet again, but remained stiller than he had been previously. "It's good you caught me," he said, smiling shyly up at his father. Thranduil gave him a look, reaching forward with his free hand and aiming a brief tickle at the elfling's side._

"Very_ good," he agreed, unable to contain his grin as his son squealed. "If I hadn't, who knows what other injuries you would have sustained besides this cut."_

_Legolas nodded. "It would be a lot more painful."_

"_I expect so. It was the branch you fell through that caused this gash, but if I had not been at the bottom to catch you, this situation we are in now would be a lot worse." He wiped at the wound once more before gently pulling away and leaning down to peer at it. He'd managed to clean up most of the blood, leaving a slightly open cut from his elbow to a little above his wrist._

"_Am I okay?" Legolas's nervous voice broke through._

"_Well…" Thranduil considered it. "From the looks of things, my earlier assumptions that you may not make it out alive have diminished." The elfling's eyes widened and Thranduil glanced up, blue immediately meeting blue. A small smile spread across his face, and Legolas visibly relaxed. "You are fine, Legolas," he told him after a couple seconds. "I don't believe you'll need any stitches, but we shall pay a visit to the healing rooms on our way to dinner just in case."_

_Legolas nodded, staying silent as his father stood to his feet and cleaned up. He anxiously began swinging his legs again, and Thranduil could tell he expected some sort of punishment for climbing to the top of one of the tallest trees in the Kingdom without an adult on stand-by. He barely managed to convince himself to look up when Thranduil walked back to his desk on the other side and sat on his chair. He leaned forward and gently grabbed Legolas's small waist, pulling him back and turning him so he was sat with his legs hanging over the edge and his little feet placed on his father's knees._

"_I hope you know that what you did today was very wrong," he said once he had his son's full attention. Legolas said nothing, downcast look on his face only growing more pronounced. "You went out in the gardens and climbed the tree without asking anyone first. If I had not been out walking and heard your cries for help, then you would have fallen to the hard ground and hurt a lot more than your arm." A small nod was the Prince's reply. "Your actions were reckless and uncalled for. Just because you are a wood elf, it does not mean you are automatically able to climb to the top of a tree like a little squirrel." The corners of Legolas's lips twitched up at that, and Thranduil sighed. He reached up to stroke his son's golden hair. "If anything were ever to happen to you, Las, I would not know what to do with myself. You are the absolute light of my life, tithen pen, and I never want you to get hurt."_

"_I won't ever get hurt as long as you're here, Ada," the Prince said assuredly, leaning into his father's touch._

_Thranduil shook his head, a sad smile crossing his lips. "That is my aim, trust me, but it will not always be that way. Soon enough, you will be too big for your ada to make decisions for you, and you must make them yourself." His smile widened. "I only hope these decisions will not include climbing trees." He bent forward and placed his forehead against Legolas's, the little boy giggling. "What I am trying to say is… I will not always be here to protect you. As much as I wish it were so, it's not, and for that reason you must begin to think before you act. What could have happened had I not rushed to catch you when you fell from the tree today?"_

_Legolas didn't hesitate. He bit his lip and looked down. "I could have died," he said in a small voice._

_Thranduil nodded. "Exactly. If that had happened, I cannot begin to describe to you how broken I would be. To lose you would be to lose my whole heart, Legolas. That would be too much for me." His voice wavered and Legolas wasted no time in throwing his arms around his father's neck and standing up on his legs. Thranduil wrapped his own arms around his son's tiny figure and felt him rest his head on his shoulder as he nuzzled his hair._

"_Thank you for saving me, Ada," he mumbled quietly. "One day, I will save you."_

_Thranduil's hold tightened. "Oh, tithen lasse. You already have."_

* * *

Thranduil wasn't sure why that had been the memory which chose to resurface in his mind while he was unconscious, but he woke as soon as it ended.

The last time he'd felt a pain such as this, he'd been engulfed in dragon fire, feeling them lick at his skin and tear at his very body while he was utterly defenceless and without control. His leg felt as though it were burning, causing agonising bolts of pain to shoot up his body, and the rest of him was numb. He was unable to open his eyes – they felt glued shut – yet he welcomed the darkness. His head was pounding, and any ounce of light he was sure would have caused tremendous pain.

He was more than acquainted with using his other senses to answer questions. It naturally came with being an elf, yet experience as a warrior of course improved it. His keen ears were able to hear the smallest of noises, his nose could pick up scents from a mile off, his fingers, even when numb, could feel everything they touched, and his tongue could taste whatever was in the air.

Without opening his eyes, Thranduil's ears easily picked up the sound of shuffling and whispered voices… he could smell dampness and rotting wood, and his fingers could feel the roughness of whatever was beneath him, running over bumps and lumps and what he believed to be straw, and when he opened his mouth to aid in his breathing, his tongue caught the taste of the dampness he could smell.

He swallowed thickly. Everything hurt. He tried to move his hand to clutch his aching head, but confusedly found that it would not move more than a few inches, try as he might to fiercely tug it further. As he was beginning to come to his senses, he realised that he was leaning against something, and his hands were behind him. His legs felt as though they were stretched out in front of him, but it wasn't as though he could feel much regarding them, anyway. The pain in one was spreading to the other, so overwhelming that it was seriously scrambling his thoughts.

He cried out in agony as something seemed to stab into his already throbbing leg and relight his entire body on fire once again. His eyes flew open, and he jerked forward, hanging his head. He wanted to scream, but his throat felt hoarse and scratchy.

"Awake, I see."

He stilled. The voice was one he'd never heard before, and it cut through his brain like a knife. He'd thought he was alone. But, then again, he hadn't even been able to place why he was here and not at home before the voice brought him back to reality and caused the occurrences of earlier to slam right back into his face.

He didn't know if he should look up. His eyes were open, now, yet darkness still shrouded him. His vision was a little blurry, but it was beginning to clear. Stone was beneath him. Rock. And straw, as he'd figured before.

"Up here, Your Majesty." That voice again. Thranduil blinked. He felt so disoriented that he wasn't sure if the voice was in his head or if it was real. Almost as quick as these thoughts ran through his crazed mind, that stabbing pain was felt yet again in his leg, and, this time, his voice allowed him to scream. His throat was dry and any sound making its way up it felt like every step it took was done so with razors strapped to them, digging into his tissue and raking its way up to his mouth. The pain subsided the smallest bit, and he felt himself leaning heavily back against whatever he was tied up in front of. His eyes, only narrowly open, did not take long to focus on what was in front of him, though his heartbeat admittedly increased at the sight.

There must have been fifteen or so people dotted around the dark building he was in, all brandishing swords and knives or holding bows at their sides. They all seemed to be male, a lot of them tall and burly, but many looked unsure of what they were doing, their knuckles white from where they were gripping their weapons. Some seemed to appear confident, but the way that their grasps didn't waver told the King that they were all acting, attempting to look fearless and threatening towards him. He did not care. He couldn't. Not now. How he was even able to deduce so much already with the sheer torment coursing through his body went beyond him.

It didn't take long for his attention to be fully directed towards the person crouched in front of him, hand wrapped around the arrow he'd only just noticed was still embedded in his leg. His face looked utterly expressionless, save for the sinister smile curling his lips, and his eyes, which seemed black in the dark light, were boring into his own. A long scar ran through his right one, cutting down to the bottom of his chin. Long, black hair fell about his face, which seemed both young and yet aged at the same time. The tip of one ear was peeking through the curtain of hair, and Thranduil would have gasped had he not been completely worn out. He was an elf.

"Ah, how the mighty have fallen." His lilting voice was like poison to his ears, and Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"Who- who are you? Where am I? Where-" His breath caught in his throat. "Where is my son?" He had no idea if Legolas and the others had survived the ambush.

The elf chuckled lowly. "So many questions."

"And, as your King, I demand you answer them." He knew there was no use in pulling rank on these people. They obviously had no care for it, and for who they were currently keeping hostage. Nevertheless, as he was coming to his senses, his emotions regarding the situation were quickly coming to light, frustration being the last of them. If he had not been shot in the leg, there wasn't a single chance he would have been taken. They would have known that.

His thoughts were answered when pain shot through his leg once again as the elf pushed down on the arrow in his grasp, sinking it deeper into his inflamed skin. He cried out, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, keeping the tears of pain back as long as he could. He would not break in front of his captors. "Valar help me," he whispered, panting heavily, and the elf shook his head.

"Nobody will help you now, my _king_," he said, spitting the last word as though it were poison. He stood to his feet and stepped back into the crowd of what must have also been elves behind him. He stretched his arms out and grinned, waiting for Thranduil to open his eyes once more before he spoke. "We are the Forgotten."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Adar - Father**

**Ada - Dad/Daddy**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Tithen lasse - Little leaf**

**Tithen pen - Little one**


	4. Stories of Old

"You are… you are elves. Why are you doing this?" Thranduil could hardly hear himself speak. The pain in his leg was only growing, but he knew to fall asleep would be a mistake. He kept himself awake with the sheer memory of Elrond yelling at him to do so the last time he'd been in bed with a concussion and had almost drifted off to sleep. _Almost_. Elrond had made sure it didn't happen.

The ellon who seemed to be in charge shook his head, a dark look encompassing his face. "The fact that we are apparently kin meant nothing to you almost five hundred years ago."

With difficulty, Thranduil lifted his head up to look at the group before him. He shook his head. "I'm not quite sure I understand-"

"Oh, no, why would you?" He moved forward. "We can't, after all, expect a great king to remember the faces of those who are not himself."

Confusion coursed through Thranduil's already puzzled mind. His drooping eyes looked into the elf's own shadowy ones in front of him, and he shook his head. "Do you truly think me so vain?"

His face seemed to darken before he suddenly chuckled, an evil, malicious sound that made Thranduil's ears ring. He turned to the elves behind him and some joined in his apparent amusement while others continued to stare at him, their eyes boring into him. He shut his own and attempted to control at least some of the pain. It appeared to be everywhere, throbbing, pulsing, aching… but the worst of it was in his leg. He wasn't an expert on medicine by far, but he knew that the arrow couldn't stay embedded in there for too long, or he was sure to die. Perhaps that was the plan.

"As a matter of fact, we think you more than _vain_." He opened his eyes once again to meet the elf's. "What you did to us… it can never be forgiven."

_What you did to us…_ Thranduil wryly thought about the fact that things would run a lot smoother if the madman in front of him told him exactly what it was he'd seemingly _done_. Nevertheless, no sound made it past his lips. He was in a compromising position and it would not get him anywhere if he dared to argue with his captor.

"Let me tell you a story," he spoke yet again, voice dry, "about a beautiful elleth and her baby son." He took slow steps toward him before kneeling in front of him, effectively blocking his faded view of the dwindling crowd of elves behind him. All he could see was the face of this ellon, albeit not very clearly.

"One day, the beautiful elleth went out riding in the forest. She held her baby son in her arms and was surrounded by warriors sent with her to protect her. The ride seemed to go smoothly, until they were ambushed by a group of orcs. The warriors instantly formed a circle around the elleth and the baby and began to fight off the orcs who tried to get past their shields and swords, but it soon became clear that they were severely outnumbered. The warriors were falling like flies, when suddenly, as though their silent prayers to Eru had been answered, a band of elves who had merely been passing by jumped through the bushes, brandishing their swords, and fought with the warriors. Eventually, after some time, the orcs were all dead on the ground." Thranduil watched as the elf stood to his feet and moved backwards. He crossed his arms over his chest. It was clear that the elves behind them had not loosened their grips on their weapons, but the King did not have long to think on it before he was being spoken to once again.

"You see, though it may have been a victory, it was far from that. Among the orcs lay elves. Black blood mingled with red blood. The feeling of death felt like a sheet had been draped over their heads and was suffocating them." He shut his dark eyes for a moment as though composing himself before he suddenly snapped his head back up and glared straight at him. "It seemed they had not been as vigilant as they thought, however, as they heard the beautiful elleth scream. She'd been ripped from her horse, still holding her baby, and stabbed straight through her heart. One of the elves rushed forward to save the baby and kill the orc, but not before having a knife plunged straight through his own chest. He saved the baby, but he was not as lucky as the beautiful elleth, who had died straight away, because he was forced to endure the next few days in absolute agony, reeling from the pain and unable to do anything but _die_." There was a deep anger in his voice, and, yet again, he stopped, and an elleth in the crowd behind him stepped forward, placing a hand on his wrist. He glanced up at her for a moment and turned. His voice became softer as he spoke his next words, but somehow it sounded even darker than before. "The elf died in the end, surrounded by other elves on their deathbeds, and elves who were crying over the loss of family and friends… everyone lost someone that day…"

The room fell silent, each being occupying it seeming to fall into a silent state of oblivion for a moment. Thranduil's head was pounding, even more so than before, and his brain was aching with the effort it was taking to keep up with what he was being told. He opened his mouth to speak. "Why were they not medically treated?" His voice was a mere croak in the darkness of the room, but the elf heard enough to walk back towards him and crouch down to his level. He slowly shook his head.

"Oh, they tried," he all but whispered, "but these elves lived outside the walls of their kingdom, and therefore did not have the money nor medical supplies needed to properly treat their injured. They asked the remaining warriors left from the fight to tell the people of the Kingdom that they had helped when they returned home… but days passed, and nothing came. Nothing. One by one, the elves died, until there were barely any that had fought in the battle left alive." He moved closer to Thranduil and sneered. "And we blame you."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act. How he was _expected_ to act. These elves obviously had their entire hearts and souls in on this… _whatever_ it was, and clearly intended for him to feel nothing but guilt on the matter. He'd been oblivious at first – his head aching too much for him to make much of a coherent thought – but, as the elf in front of him had continued to speak, he had soon come to the conclusion that this story of the beautiful elleth and her baby son was, in fact, his wife and Legolas. The story, after all, matched up to what Arandur had told him all those years ago. He supposed he hadn't figured it out sooner because he'd only been told of it once, and Arandur had not spared him all the details, but it had begun to make sense after some time. Why else would he be told of it? And, if his wife was the elleth in the story, he was conscious enough to know that the elves who had helped her warriors fight off the orcs were the elves he was sitting before at this exact moment.

The elf stood up and Thranduil shook his head, shutting his eyes. "Do not tell me the story of my wife's death," he said, voice quiet and gravelly. He watched as the ellon opposite him suddenly broke into an eerie-looking grin and spun on his heel to look down at him. Arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes stared at his bowed head.

"Well, then," he said. "It seems you are not as foolish as we originally thought."

Thranduil could feel his face growing hot with the blood rushing through his body. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his head was heavy, but nevertheless he managed to lift it and lean it back against whatever he was tied to – he guessed it was a wooden beam. He didn't believe he'd ever felt so out of breath without actually moving. "I know the story is about her and our son," he told him. "And… I know you are the group of elves who helped them."

"Oh, you do, do you? Valar… I would have believed that level of thinking too great an effort for you." Thranduil could not even begin to feel bothered by the insults being thrown at him. Instead, he kept his gaze on the elf, unwavering yet still fading slightly. "Yes, it is true," he said after a short while. "Though many of the elves behind me did not fight in that battle. Those elves are gone… buried under the ground…" His voice trailed off for a moment, but the King had half a mind to think that it was simply for show, as a moment later he snapped his head back around to face him. "We were only passing by – a begetting-day party for my son, you see – but the sound of the battle was too loud for us to miss. I was among the ellyn who went to see what was going on, and as soon as we discovered the orcs, we gathered all capable ellyn in our group, sent the ellith and elflings back home, and jumped straight into the middle of the swords."

Thranduil was trying to focus all his attention on the ellon who was speaking, but it was impossible not to catch a glimpse of an elleth behind him almost discreetly move closer to whoever was next to her and grip onto his arm in what could only be comfort. He'd realised that the crowd had gotten considerably smaller since the elf had started speaking, but nobody had left since he'd begun his story. "There were around twenty of us to begin with. Nine of us made it out alive. Nine out of nine were severely injured. Four out of nine are still alive today." He said it as though it were a passing fact, and the elves behind him seemed to turn to each other for comfort even more. If the elf speaking was fazed, he didn't make it all too obvious. Twisting around, he apparently did nothing but make eye contact with people behind him. Three stepped forward, fiercely clutching their weapons.

"Almárean," he introduced simply, nodding towards the one who'd stepped forward first. He pulled his hood down, revealing mussed light brown hair which perfectly hid his ears. Pale eyes met his own, the darkness not doing much to conceal the small glimmer in them. He was clearly young. Older than Legolas, of course, as he wouldn't have been a child during the battle, but there was a certain gleam of innocence about him… a gleam that looked days away from being completely wiped out. "He lost his father, uncle and two brothers, and the distraction of watching them die left him with an arrow in the leg and a limp to this day," the elf continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. Thranduil realised for the first time that his right hand was as stiff as a wooden board… from what he could see, at least. In fact, in the dim light, it seemed to hold the impression that it was literally made from wood. A fake hand. So, the elf had been in the battle. It wasn't a surprise to him, really – he knew the details all too particularly for someone who had merely been told of them – but it still put him in a new light, somehow. Albeit a dark light, but anyone who fought in a battle and survived deserved at least some recognition.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looked back at Almárean. The younger elf held Thranduil's gaze for a moment more, possibly attempting to keep his face expressionless, but at the mention of the loss of his family he dipped his head and let his hair curtain around his face.

The elf moved to the one next to Almárean. "Orthorien," he said. Orthorien looked older than Almárean. His hair was a dark auburn colour, but the King wasn't able to make out the colour of his eyes – he seemed to be stood in a shadow that enveloped him like a crushing hug – though they were staring intently into his own. "He was knocked in the back of his head by the hilt of an orc's sword and suffers partial memory loss to this day. The few healers we had here who treated him say there is a possibility that could have been avoided if they had more supplies." If anything, Orthorion's gaze hardened. His grip on his sword tightened, and it did not falter when the elf pat his back and moved to the last of the elves who had stepped forward.

"Nendir." Nendir kept his own hood up, the cap of it hiding the top of his face. All Thranduil could see was the thin, grim line of his mouth, his nose, and the bottom of what he could only assume to be an eye patch covering his left eye. "Thankfully, only the tip of the orc's sword made it through his eye before Ortherion managed to kill the beast. Even so, the wound causes him pain every second of the day, and he wakes from nightmares that only his wife can calm him from." Nendir didn't move a muscle. It was as though he couldn't. To think that nightmares were quite possibly the only thing which had the ability to break him from his cold exterior… he would say it was unexpected, but he was well acquainted with the terrifying power of bad dreams.

Thranduil looked back to the elf, whose eyes were training on his own. "You are the fourth…" he said absently, realising with a pained heart that his voice was getting weaker with each time he spoke, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to help it.

The elf nodded once, lifting his chin up. "Urúvion." At _last_, he was given a name. "I lost something that I never should have had to lose."

"You lost your arm."

Urúvion locked eyes with him and stood still for a moment, a brief look of confusion crossing his face for the shortest of moments before he blinked and glanced down to his right arm. He lifted it and held his wooden wrist in his left hand. "Oh, yes," he said vaguely, voice quiet, "so I did." If it didn't hurt to move even his face muscles, Thranduil would have frowned. Nevertheless, Urúvion did not wait long in filling him in. He dropped his arm and stepped forward. "No, _King_. I lost something no one should _ever_ have to lose. Something _you_ almost lost but did not because _we_ were there that day… something that was ripped from my hands so- so _cruelly_…" He trailed off yet again, and Thranduil had the good sense not to question it. A second later, Urúvion snapped his head around to face him, and he moved forward, crouching beside him once again. He winced in pain when the elf placed his hand firmly on his swollen leg, right above where the arrow was still embedded. Tears unwillingly welled in his eyes as he looked at Urúvion, vision utterly blurred. Urúvion leaned forward and sneered. "You cost me my _son_," he hissed. "My young son who saved the life of your own boy on that day and received nothing more than a _dagger_ _to the heart_." He spat his words as though they were poison. "The elves who fought that day alongside your own warriors have received nothing but pain and grief from this ordeal. We have been _forgotten_… _buried_ under marvellous stories of the _bravery_ of the _King's_ elves, and the majesty _they_ performed on that day."

Thranduil wanted nothing more than for somebody to either cut his leg off or knock him out so that he did not have to suffer through the pain his wound was causing. He believed Urúvion knew it, too. This was only part of his punishment. Swallowing thickly, he slowly shook his head. "If it is recognition you want-"

"_Recognition?_" Urúvion seemed appalled at the mere sound of the word. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, looking absolutely sickened by what he'd said. "We do not want _recognition_. We wanted _help_. We _needed_ help. Our people were _dying_ in service of their _king_ and _he_ wasn't doing _anything about it_!" He shouted the last words, pushing his hand into Thranduil's inflamed skin and causing him to cry out.

"I did not know you _existed_!" he managed to raise his voice just enough to assert himself more power than what he currently looked capable of. He stared at Urúvion, panting heavily. "I was not _there_."

"We sent your elves back with a message," Urúvion replied deridingly.

"All the elves who survived the battle passed, save for one," Thranduil told him. "I did not ask for _specifics_ on it. My wife had _died_."

"Surely you are not stupid enough to think that fifteen or so elves could fight off a band of armed, prepared orcs _alone_? You did not believe they had had _help_?" Urúvion's face was in his own, now. His jaw was locked as he grit his teeth, and he was practically seething.

Thranduil sighed. "It was so _long_ ago, Urúvion."

A resounding noise bounced off the walls as the elf quickly rose his hand and slapped Thranduil's cheek. It disagreed – _painfully_ – with the bruise he had not even noticed he had until Urúvion's hand made contact with his skin. Head knocked to the side, he shut his eyes and tried to control the pain as the dark-haired ellon leaned forward so his lips were almost touching his ear. "You do not deserve to say my name."

His resolve was swiftly crumbling, but Thranduil's strength had never resided simply in his muscles. His heart was aching, but it was still beating strongly, pumping as much willpower through his veins as he would allow. He turned his head around and steeled his expression, doing his best to ignore the obvious trickle of blood coming from the new split in the corner of his lip. Urúvion's eyes lingered on the cut for a moment, smiling almost sardonically, ignoring the almost challenging look on the King's face, before he stood to his feet once again and heaved a sigh, turning his back on him.

"The pain you would have felt had you lost both your wife and your son…" His head shifted to the side slightly but he did not glance over his shoulder. "Do not worry," he said. "You will feel it soon."

Thranduil's heart skipped a beat. "What does that mean?" he asked. Urúvion didn't move at first, and his sharp ears were barely able to pick up the sound of the crowd behind him shifting. Finally, after what seemed an age, the elf turned to face him. There was no sign of a dark smirk on his face… nothing which indicated hostility or anything of the sort. Just plain… indifference. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I must admit that we had never planned on capturing you to begin with," he confessed, and Thranduil's eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit. He wondered how long exactly this plan of theirs had been in the works. "Your son, on the other hand… our plan was to seize him on this ride today," he continued, "and bring him back here… put him where you are now… and wait for his dear adar to come and rescue him. Though we loathe your existence, King, your battle experience is nothing to sleep on. In our minds, it would have been easier to take the Prince captive and have you come here to find him instead of the other way around…" It was at this he let a quiet chuckle bubble up in his throat, and a cynical grin crept across his lips. "But when we were told you would be joining him in his trek to the waterfall… _well_. Our plans changed. We thought to ourselves… 'Valar. The King of the Woodland Realm himself will be right in our grasp, and we have all the means to take him.' We could not pass up on that opportunity. So, we did. We took you. Though we were warriors in our time, it has been a long while since we have fought anything but orcs, and we knew our chances of capturing both you and your son would be slim, so we did not try it. But we did not have to." He stepped forward. "Prince Legolas will come looking for you," he said quietly. "He _will_ find you here, and he _will_ die here, with you as witness."

Thranduil wallowed thickly and bit back exactly what he wished to say to that. Nevertheless, he hardened his expression and leaned his head against the beam, staring at Urúvion with just as much ice in his eyes. Really, he should have expected it. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son… the elf truly believed it was his fault that his son had died. And maybe it had been. Currently, there were too many thoughts inside his aching brain for him to properly focus on one.

A sudden thought came to him and he furrowed his eyebrows in deep thought, forgetting about the pain any abrupt movements caused him for a moment and quickly dipping his head down to stare at the floor. He winced as a wave of nausea washed over him, but it was not strong enough to sway him from his thoughts. It could not be possible… _how_ could it be possible? Lifting his head up, he locked his eyes on Urúvion's. The ellon looked as though he already knew Thranduil's mind.

"How did you know about the ride to the waterfall?" he asked.

Urúvion nonchalantly shrugged, and Thranduil ached to let loose the curses brewing in his throat. Instead, he waited, watching every move the elf made like a hawk. "The same reason it took us so long to act on this plan."

Thranduil shook his head softly. "Why… why is that?"

"Because it was not easy getting one of us inside your walls." Urúvion gazed at him with such pleasure in his eyes, watching his hostage battle with the thoughts inside his head.

He hadn't wanted to think about the idea of there being a traitor within Greenwood, but the whole ordeal had just been far too easy. Thranduil's warriors were as skilled as the next, all trained to protect their king and kill any who tried to harm him… for Urúvion and his prepared and armed men to coincidentally bump into them that morning should have been impossible.

A sudden feeling of anger bubbled inside him, and he grit his teeth, shutting his eyes. After Alassiel's death, he had lost all sense for a very long time. He'd found it difficult to trust everyone and anyone, even those in his own council… Arandur had been the only one he'd entrusted with any matters and concerns that he needed addressing. He'd closed off his palace and the grounds around it, not letting anyone in or out without his consent, and had subjected everyone to long years after that. Nobody had been happy for a long time… until, of course, he'd had a change of heart and begun to slowly open up again, subsequently becoming the king he'd once been and people had loved. Despite that, however, he'd still been reserved, and had never quite been the same again. Understandable, of course, but it had changed the Kingdom – and its people – a lot.

His Royal Guard and soldiers had been the one thing he'd especially kept an eye on, ensuring Arandur trained them to the best of their ability so they were always fit and ready to protect his son. He had not let anyone join the ranks since before Alassiel's death, trust being the primary thing he looked for between himself and every single one of the warriors, and he'd been perfectly fine with that. Nevertheless, the years had passed, and Arandur had since counselled him on the fact that adding soldiers to the guard and army would be most beneficial, especially since the orc and goblin sightings had increased around Middle-earth. Thranduil had reluctantly agreed after a time, on the terms that he would meet each warrior personally and ensure their backgrounds and such added up, not to mention that their fighting was adequate enough for them to be fit to join his troops. Each warrior had been regarded with the simplest of details, and many had been turned away, but he'd forced himself to follow Arandur's advice and choose those that he truly believed could help protect his kingdom and his son, despite the fact that Legolas was well past the age that he really _required_ protection.

Not much time had passed since the additions to the Guard, and over time he had allowed himself to feel as though he'd made the right decision, consequently ridding himself of the constant paranoia he felt regarding the safety of Legolas.

That was all crumbling down, now.

One of the warriors that he had personally seen to had betrayed his trust, spied on his family and could quite possibly be the cause of his – and his son's – death. There was no other way in which it could have happened. The Royal Household had not been added to since Alassiel… she had loved to pick the cooks and maids, and since they'd all been working in the palace before Legolas had even been born, he could quite honestly say he trusted each and every one. If any of them had ever requested to leave their jobs, they'd been replaced in almost the same manner as the warriors had been chosen… though not quite so elaborately. Either way, nobody working in the palace was new by any account, other than the soldiers who had joined the ranks.

Even if that were something he had to consider, he knew that there wasn't really a way in which they could have found out about the ride to the waterfall. Legolas was with his warriors much more often than he himself was, and he was quick to become friends and develop a bond with each and every one. There would not have been anyone else Legolas could have let slip about the ride to, apart from them, and even if the traitor _were_ a cook or a servant of some sort… they would have had to be stalking the Prince every day in order to catch some bits of useful information. He mentally shook his head. It was one of the warriors. One of _Legolas's_ warriors.

"Tell me who." His voice was quiet, yet harsh. His teeth were gritting together, jaw locked, and his icy blue eyes were staring so hard that it almost surpassed the pain he was currently in.

Urúvion smirked, teeth showing behind his chapped lips, before he shrugged. "Of course, Your _Majesty_." He bowed, and Thranduil attempted to school his breathing when he stepped to the side and extended his arm out towards the crowd of elves.

For a moment, the darkness did not do anything for his vision. He could hear the elves shuffling around, clearly making way for somebody to get past, but he could not see. And then, after a few seconds of mindlessly searching the group for a familiar face, a dark shape wandered into the open and stood beside Urúvion. He smiled, an unearthly thing, and Thranduil felt his heartbeat rise a notch. The face of this elf was still dim, yet there was enough light for him to make out what he needed.

Urúvion slapped him on the back, and he glanced at him briefly before slowly making his way towards the King. His steps were slow, and each time he moved a little closer Thranduil swore his blood boiled that bit more, but, eventually, he made it to the spot next to him. He crouched down and peered at him, those dark eyes displaying nothing but mistrust and betrayal.

"King Thranduil," he said with a slight nod of his head. Even his voice was like ice. Cold and unrelenting, sent by Sauron himself to torture him.

Thranduil leaned forward as much as he could, satisfied when the elf moved back. It was only a small step, but it was enough to show the King that, in the betrayer's mind, he _was_ still King. He stared at him for a moment, _almost_ making him squirm and move away, but his own voice – a greeting, if you will – stopped him before he could do so.

"Dûrion. What an unexpected surprise."


	5. Unhinged

**Reply to guest's review: Thank you, but I'm already well aware of what you're telling me, having been writing fanfictions in Tolkien's world for a veeery long time lol. I know elves don't get infections. I never said they did. I did 'amend' that sentence and changed 'heart' to 'chest', as I admit it did sound a little off, and I changed up a few others which may have made it sound as though any of the elves had suffered through sickness before their deaths... but none of it is, as you said, cliche. Thanks anyway, I appreciate the thought. :)**

* * *

The pounding of hooves grew ever louder as Legolas and Arandur quickly reached the gates of home. Legolas was sure he'd never pushed his horse so fast in his life, but this was not a time to think about such things. For all he knew, his father, the _King_, could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere in the woods surrounding them. If he'd had his way, then he would still be roaming the forest, searching for any sign of the direction his father's captors could have taken him, but Arandur had quickly taken it upon himself to knock some sense into his head.

What he'd said had been true, of course; they knew absolutely nothing about the people who had ambushed them by the waterfall, save for the fact that they had outnumbered them, which told him that the attack had been planned. Had the shock of the ambush not been most disadvantageous, he was sure they could have prevented the death of Lairion and most definitely kept their attention firmly fixed on the King… nevertheless, it had not been so. They had lost him, and though Thranduil had more experience on the battlefield than anyone, and was more than capable of watching his own back… it was the arrow to the leg that had slowed him down _considerably_.

There was no reason for Legolas to blame him_self_.

That was what he attempted to tell himself, anyway.

As soon as they reached the gardens, Legolas leaped off Aeglos, leaving him for the stable master, and strode off towards the palace. "Call all the warriors together," he called back to Arandur, who he knew was not far behind. His face was stony as he weaved in and out of elves all hurrying to get everything ready for the night's celebration. The smiles on their faces and giggles of the playing children did nothing to brighten his mood.

Arandur raced to keep up with him, heaving a sigh as he did so. "Yes, Legolas," he said once he'd managed to almost match his stride with his own, "but…" He sighed yet again, shaking his head. "I must advise against riding out immediately."

Legolas halted abruptly, spinning on his heel just in time to watch as Arandur almost skidded to a stop in front of him. Had the situation been different, he would have laughed at the look on his mentor's face, but his mind was too focused on what he'd just been told. "What does _that_ mean?" he questioned him immediately, eyebrows furrowing. No more time could be wasted – they had already spent enough of it riding back for reinforcements. It was simply not happening.

Arandur took one look at the expression on the Prince's face, clearly saw it was not going to budge, and immediately held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back. Though he was not at all intimidated by his young friend, he knew trouble – trouble they could not _afford_ – would soon arise if he challenged him in even the smallest way. "What I mean to _say_," he said slowly, raising both eyebrows at Legolas's steely expression, "is that the celebrations will be starting soon." He gave him a knowing look.

"They will continue," the blond replied.

It was at this that Arandur heaved a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "Without the presence of both the King _and_ Prince?"

Legolas's expression visibly softened, if only a small amount, but it was enough for Arandur to see that he was beginning to think more on his words. The last thing they wanted to do was worry the Kingdom and inform them of their missing monarch. Of course, they would not do it intentionally, but Thranduil's disappearance at the celebrations would be recognised, and if Legolas did not attend either, then they were bound to be faced with a few questions which proved difficult to answer.

He glanced down at his boots for a moment before looking up again. "Yes," he confirmed after a while. "We ride out tonight." He turned to move in the direction he'd been walking in to begin with but was briskly stopped by a hand enclosing around his wrist and spinning him back around. Mouth open to speak – _quite probably something insulting,_ Arandur grimly thought – he glared hard at the elf. Nevertheless, as it had been for many centuries, a swift raise of both eyebrows and an almost dangerous glint in those golden eyes had him shutting his mouth as quickly as he'd opened it.

Arandur nodded once approvingly, letting his wrist go. "Just hear what I have to say, Legolas," he told him, and Legolas's silence signalled him to continue. "We do not know where we are going-" He rose a finger slightly when the blond made to interrupt- "and though I do not expect you to sit and wait for news that will not come, I must insist that you don't ride tonight."

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot-"

"Stay," Arandur said. "Please. Stay for the celebrations, and _I_ will take a group to the waterfall to meet with Eredhion and Andaer. We will gather what we can, and in the morning, we shall ride back here for you to join us before we head out once again." He knew Legolas was battling with himself, warring with the thoughts bustling around in his mind… the Prince was not even sure whether his father still _lived_ or not – of _course_ he would want to come with him. Still, he was adamant on this one. Legolas's presence that night _needed_ to be within Greenwood's walls, not outside them.

He gazed at him for a moment, wondering if he was going to argue or comply, and was relieved when he turned his face down to the ground and nodded in what could only be defeat.

"Alright," he said, almost inaudibly above the noise around them. "I will stay here. But…" He sighed and lifted his head, eyes locking onto Arandur's. "Come back quickly. I will not be able to bear being here alone while you are out looking for him."

Arandur let a sad smile appear on his lips as he reached out and lay a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "You know it is what your adar would want you to do," he told him. "I will leave as soon as I have changed and the warriors are ready, and I will be back before the sun has fully risen, I _promise_ you." His eyes flicked to the side slightly when he caught sight of a familiar ellon in the corner of his eye. "Maldor!" he called, nodding to him as he turned at the sound of his name. Arandur did not enjoy taking him away from helping the servants and cooks set up tables, but it was necessary. Once Maldor had sent quick apologies to the ellith, he jogged over to him and Legolas.

"Captain," he greeted before turning and dipping his head slightly. "Hir nin."

"Maldor, I need you to round up forty of our warriors and ready yourselves to leave tonight," Arandur told him. Maldor nodded in understanding, though his expression completely betrayed his thoughts. He knew it would be disrespectful if he asked what the reasoning for this was, but all the same he was greatly curious, and so he was silently relieved when Arandur took his hand away from Legolas's shoulder and instead pat his back encouragingly. "All questions will be answered once you have done so, mellon nin. Be hasty. We leave as soon as I am ready." And, with that, Maldor hurried off, calling a few of the nearby ellyn on his way.

Legolas turned to him as soon as he had left. "_Forty?_" he asked, confusion evident in both his eyes and voice.

Arandur nodded. "Those we fought against clearly were not as experienced as us," he explained. "And though we have no idea how many more there are of them, or where they have taken Thranduil, I highly doubt we will be fighting tonight. It will be dark, therefore difficult to see anything which may point us in the correct direction. If we find where they are keeping him, we shall scope out the area as diligently as we can and gather as much information as the situation allows us… that is when we shall return here for you and more of our warriors, if need be. Not only that but taking a larger number will turn heads around here. We cannot raise any suspicion." He rose a questioning eyebrow at the Prince, clearly asking if the explanation was good enough.

Legolas looked unsure. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated at the last moment and shut it again. Arandur didn't believe he could look any more like an innocent elfling if he tried.

"Ara… how do we know he is still…" Sharp blue eyes flitted up to meet pale golden, portraying the entirety of the message he was attempting to get across. Arandur shook his head immediately.

"We do not," he answered quietly, "but the chances of him no longer living is unlikely. He was taken for a reason, and I do doubt that reason was solely to kill him. If that _were_ it, they would have done it on the battlefield." Legolas licked his lips and silently nodded. His chest visibly heaved with a sigh, but Arandur placed a hand on his back and began walking with him before he had a chance to dwell on the words. "Come on," he said, "let us not waste any more time. Go and change out of your wet clothes and then prepare for tonight." He stopped and turned as they neared the palace entrance, placing both hands on the Prince's shoulders. "You will do absolutely _fine_, Legolas, believe me. Try not to think too much and get as good a night's sleep as you can. Be ready when I come for you in the morning." Legolas stood straight and attempted to compose himself, though his friend saw the worry darting around in his eyes. He pat his shoulder reassuringly and gave a grim smile. "Fine, Legolas. You will be fine."

Legolas could not be more doubtful.

* * *

Alassiel's bright blue eyes gazed out lovingly from where Legolas was stood in front of her. He was simply staring – attempting to pick out details that he may have missed the last time he had looked at her. Nevertheless, as was to be expected, he had already memorised everything. The painting was an exact replica of her, Thranduil had told him countless times. It was just like looking at the real Queen.

How strange it was that people had the ability to miss somebody they had never met. Right here, right now, Legolas wanted nothing more than for his mother to be stood next to him, soothing him with the sweet voice he envisioned her to have, letting him know that everything was going to be alright...

He had never felt so alone in his life. Arandur was gone, as were forty of the warriors he'd taken away from the festivities of the night… his friends were readying for the party, all oblivious and therefore all people he did not feel like talking to… and his father was only Eru _knew_ where…

An almost shaky sigh left him, and he found himself subconsciously pulling at his robes. He wished for someone – _any_one – to be with him and save him from the silence around him. He was not one to stay isolated from people, and so the quietude was almost frightening.

He thought of his friends. Some were still helping with the last-minute preparations of the celebrations, but as for the others, he wasn't sure. Nobody except those who had left with Arandur knew about Thranduil. He hoped Eredhion and Andaer were alright. And Lairion… a spike in his heartbeat left him feeling lightheaded. Lairion. He'd been so busy worrying about everything else that he had not stopped to think about the fact that one of the elves he had known for centuries, as both a warrior _and_ a friend, was dead. He'd always been such a kind soul, modest and calm in both nature and spirit. A brilliant swordsman, too… which was what angered Legolas the most. Fate truly did not rely on levels of fighting skills, did it? It attacked whoever it liked.

Emotions running high from the day, he wasn't surprised when his vision suddenly became blurry with tears that soon made their quick departure down his rosy cheeks. Lairion's parents had sailed to Valinor some years ago, but he knew he'd had an older sister. The task of letting her know her brother had been killed was not something he wanted to fall to him. Perhaps Arandur would do it for him… or at least accompany him.

He sighed, shaking his head and lifting it to look back up at his mother. "Oh, Nana," he whispered.

"Hir nin?"

The new voice cut through the silence like a knife, and it took everything for Legolas not to spin around in shock. Instead, he turned and quickly wiped his eyes and cheeks on the back of his hands before straightening and brushing down his robes. He moved to face the door and nodded towards the newcomer. "Feren," he greeted, clearing his throat.

The advisor smiled and walked a little further into the room. "The celebrations are about to begin," he told him gently. "We are all ready when you are."

Legolas nodded in thanks. He had informed his father's council and whoever else needed to know that Thranduil was ill and therefore would be unable to attend. They had all believed him, from what he'd seen – it was not too difficult to imagine that their king would feel unwell on a day like this. Of course, he had never once missed a year, but everyone was understanding enough to know that it was always a possibility. Some days just proved to be worse than others. "Hannon le, Feren." He turned and reached for the circlet he'd left on the wooden desk.

"Hir nin… if you wouldn't be opposed to the idea… may I ask a question?" Legolas glanced at the ellon's reflection in the mirror he was standing in front of.

"Of course," he replied. "Why would I be opposed to the idea?"

"Well," Feren said with an absent shrug as he walked closer toward him, "I just would not want you to take it offensively."

Legolas nodded, fingers stilling in their braiding for a brief second before he continued. "Go ahead."

Feren stopped by his Prince and crossed his arms over his chest. "Forgive me for noticing," he began, "but your adar did not return with you from the waterfall." It was more of a statement than a question, and it was enough for Legolas to see that Feren had not believed the tale he'd spun, after all. Understandably. He had been the King's friend as a young child, and Legolas had been told by him many times that he'd adopted most of the traits his father had possessed at his own age… Feren was easily able to see through most things both father and son said simply because of how alike they were.

Sighing, Legolas tied off his braid and shifted the circlet slightly on his head. His arms dropped to his sides. "No," he said quietly, "he did not."

Though he expected Feren had anticipated this response, the ellon still furrowed his brows together in confusion at the revelation. "Is he alright?" Concern laced his voice, and Legolas saw the worry in his eyes. "I also passed Arandur not two hours past… he was taking forty or so warriors out into the woods, and when I asked about it, he told me he was investigating a recent orc sighting." He rose an eyebrow as Legolas made a face – really, he was weighing the believability of the cover-up story his friend had created, but to Feren, it looked nothing less than suspicious. Of course, forty warriors were practically nothing compared to the thousands of warriors Greenwood had, but it was still a large enough number to be questionable all the same.

Legolas looked at him. "Has anyone else asked about it?"

Feren nodded. "A few who saw the patrol leaving, but I told them what the Captain told me."

"Yet you still have your suspicions?"

He rose an eyebrow. "_Should_ I, Prince Legolas?"

He felt like an elfling under Feren's gaze, but then again, the reasoning behind that was most probably because he knew the advisor was certain he was keeping something from him.

Sighing, he shook his head in defeat and swallowed heavily, feeling the tears wallowing in his eyes once again. "Oh, Feren," he said, walking towards a chair and all but collapsing in it. "My adar has been taken captive. We were ambushed by the waterfall and he… they took him. There were so many of them and we were too caught up in the fight to notice that he'd gone."

Feren's gaze sharpened at this news and he walked towards the chair. "Taken _captive_? Was he injured at all beforehand? I find it hardly unlikely that they could have caught him so easily."

Legolas nodded dejectedly, not wishing to glance up and present the ellon with his teary eyes. "He was shot in the leg. That must have been their plan all along… hit him first so they can get to him easily. Arandur and I were in the water at the time while Ada remained on the banks with the other warriors." He shook his head. "Dûrion was nowhere to be seen after the battle, but the last we saw of him, he was guarding Ada, so we assume he must have been taken with him. Eredhion and Andaer stayed at the waterfall to search for anything which may lead us to where they were taken, and Lairion…" He felt a lump rise in his throat and attempted to swallow it down. "Lairion did not make it," he concluded quietly. Feren shut his eyes and glanced downwards. Lairion had been a friend of his, and one he was sure to miss dearly. After a moment, he opened his eyes and heaved a sigh.

"Arandur is on his way to meet with Eredhion and Andaer, I presume?" he asked, and Legolas nodded once. "I am guessing he had some difficulty keeping you from joining him?"

"The only reason I am here, Feren, is to host the celebrations." The blond rubbed at his eyes yet again. "How can I host a party when my adar is out there somewhere, dead or alive, I do not know, in pain… missing his own wife's festival… it is not _right_!" He sat forward and heaved a sigh, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. It truly was not like him to act so irritant and upset – typically he was reserved and, when emotional, kept to himself… much like his father in that respect – and he mentally cursed himself for breaking that in front of someone he held much respect for. Nevertheless, as Feren could not help but sadly muse while he took in the Prince's depleted state, he often forgot that he was, in fact, still quite a young thing. Legolas's years on Middle-earth were nothing compared to his and others'. He'd always had his father and Arandur somewhere nearby, and though the advisor knew he wrongly berated himself many a time for relying so heavily on them, it never managed to sway that reliance. Legolas was an independent ellon, but only when he knew his family was safe. This was not one of those times.

Feren sighed and shook his head. "It is not right, Hir nin, you are correct," he told him, stepping forward. "But what is there we can do, hm? Do you not believe the King would have wanted you to remain here for your naneth's party?"

Legolas breathed a laugh and sniffed. "Arandur said the same thing."

"Well," the advisor told him with a short breath of amusement, "Arandur is very wise. I know it may be a difficult thing to do, but imagining your adar is standing next to you while you are speaking… might prove useful. It was a trick I learnt from my own adar when I was in training for the King's council. Sometimes, creating the image of the person you most respect or love standing right beside you, helping you through whatever it is you are doing, can help tremendously."

Noises from the open window made him turn his head slightly to look towards it, and Legolas followed him in doing the same. He stood to his feet not a moment later and wiped at the few tears clinging to his lashes before taking a deep breath in and slowly exhaling. Feren looked on warmly before stepping forward and placing a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "Do you trust him?"

Legolas looked at him. "Arandur?" He nodded. "With my life."

Feren smiled. "Then trust him in this. He will return your adar… whether that be today or tomorrow. Grumpy attitude and all." He stepped back at the sound of Legolas's light laughter and bowed his head. "Now, should we head outdoors?"

* * *

He admitted it was a strange thing... to imagine your father standing next to you, when you know deep in your heart that he is anywhere but. Nevertheless, he could not deny that it didn't help even the smallest bit. Feren's words resounded in his mind, helping him bury the thoughts he did not need at this moment and focus on the ones that he did.

He had always stood next to the King as he spoke to his kingdom. Thranduil had never begun a speech without him there. So, he understood why it felt so wrong to be up there alone. Despite it, however, he attempted to focus plainly on what both Feren and Arandur had told him. It was not a secret that his father would want the celebrations to continue, even without his presence. The Queen's Day _was _the Queen's Day, after all. It would not sit well with him for it to go uncelebrated, even if they decided to hold a further celebration for him to attend when he came home. A deep sigh rumbled in his chest. He would not think about the ifs of the situation. _When _he came home. _When_.

A few children cheered as he made his way to where the elves were gathered, waiting for him to begin. He glanced over and could not help but smile, catching a young elfling's eye and winking in her direction. Her eyes lit up and she turned to babble excitedly to her mother standing behind her. Feren walked a few paces behind him, accompanied by a couple more ellyn from the King's council, and he relaxed in the knowledge that he was not as alone as before. Adjusting the cloak around his shoulders, he turned to address the Kingdom, a small smile on his face as they quietened down, excited glints in their eyes. This was, after all, a day they anticipated all year. Their beloved Queen had been Greenwood's proudest aspect, and they had all shared in their king's grief when they lost her.

Legolas's eyes absently flicked over to Feren, who was standing to the side. He nodded in encouragement and he took a deep breath. "I would greatly like to thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate the life of our Queen Alassiel," he began, not a tremor to be heard in his unwavering voice. "I will… begin by letting you all know that King Thranduil is currently… unwell, and will therefore be unable to attend tonight. It is the first of the Queen's Day's celebrations that he has not been able to join in, and I am certain we can all say with confidence that his presence will be deeply missed." He quickly glanced down, repeating Arandur's words in his head. "Nevertheless, I am just as honoured to be given the chance to host these festivities." He managed to look up, forcing a brief smile to cross his lips. "I know that many of you were lucky enough to know the Queen while you had the opportunity. From what I have been told, she was a lively spirit, interacting with as many of you as she possibly could, smile never once straying from her lips… keeping her husband on his toes!" A chorus of laughter was heard, and Legolas allowed himself a low chuckle. He nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "As you all will know, I never had the chance to meet her, but I am sure that if I had, I would not have loved her any more than I do now. I know many of you will feel the same." He smiled at the nods, especially the ones from the small groups of elflings who, though clearly eager to begin the celebrations, were listening quite intently. "It is a wonderful night tonight, and one I am sure will be filled with the beauty of this magical festival. And so, I shall not detain you any longer. Go. Go and eat, and dance, and laugh, just as she would have wanted you to." He nodded in thanks as an elleth walked up to him and handed him a glass of wine, which he raised in the air, everyone else following in his stead. "To Queen Alassiel!"

"Queen Alassiel!" The cheers rang high into the night, and the Kingdom clapped their hands uproariously and praised their prince's speech before dispersing into the gardens. Legolas, meanwhile, turned his back on the withering crowd and downed his drink in one go. Feren looked at him questionably from where he was stood, but before he could make to move over to him, Legolas waved a hand airily at him and walked off, wrapping his cloak further around his shoulders. He nodded and forced polite smiles at anyone who greeted him, ruffling the hair of an elfling who grinned toothily up at him when his father bowed his head in respect as he passed by, but once he had made his way through the crowd and back into what could more or less be called the quiet open, he let loose a breath of relief and shut his eyes, shaking his head.

"Everything alright, mellon nin?" He stopped in his tracks and glanced around as a small group of his friends wandered over to him. Each had wine in their hands – and Naertho had a bowl of cakes, but Naertho was never not holding food – and were looking quite concernedly at him.

Smiling, Legolas nodded. "Everything is fine. How was I up there, hm?" he asked in an attempt to make his friends believe he was still somewhat the same elf they had greeted that morning.

It seemed to work, for Caldir laughed not a moment later and shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. "You were not too bad, for a pointy-eared elvish princeling," he jested, and Legolas punched his shoulder. "No, 'Las, truly, it was a magnificent speech, and one I am honoured to have heard. How fares the King?"

Legolas sighed and set his mouth in a grim line. "I believe today to have been especially trying for him," he said, quite bluntly. "Hopefully he will be feeling himself in the morning."

His friends nodded in understanding. "And our captain? When is he due to return from his patrol to the claimed orc sighting?" Erolith asked.

"Ah… tomorrow, I should think, if all goes well," Legolas replied. He loved his friends – really, he did – but there was nothing more that he could wish for at this current moment than some quietude, somewhere he could not be disturbed.

"Will you be joining us?" Caldir asked.

Legolas reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Perhaps in a little while. For now, I ask that you forgive me if I take a quiet walk by myself for a short time."

Caldir clasped Legolas's forearm and smiled in utter understanding. "No need for forgiveness. We shall be with the others by the dancing, should you wish to join us." And with that, they quickly bowed their heads, Erolith patting his back, and left once again.

Legolas wasted no time in resuming his walk, breathing out into the cool air. The sounds of the music and the laughs and the cheerful voices grew softer as he moved further away, lost in his own mind while the light breeze coursed through his hair and blew against his face.

He'd been walking in no particular direction for at least five minutes before he noticed a presence at his side. Though his want to avoid speaking to people for a short while was great, he could not help but feel strangely comforted by the presence, and the reason for that was quickly made clear to him when he turned his head to look. A warm smile crossed his lips and he stopped, waiting for the white beast to plod over to him. "Hello," he said softly, taking his hand away from the warmth of his cloak in favour of tangling it within the horse's mane. "Have you escaped your field again?"

Aeglos nickered softly in response, nuzzling his velvety nose against his cheek, and Legolas's smile widened as he released a breathy chuckle. A lover of all animals, he always felt calmer when in the presence of his horse compared to his friends. There was something about the creature that filled him with a sense of deep tranquillity and altogether happiness. He stroked his white neck and let the softness seep through his hands and relax him. There was a certain magic about horses, no doubt about it.

He rose an eyebrow when Aeglos nudged him before turning and walking a little way off, a clear instruction that he was to follow. They reached the stables a moment later, and though Legolas was confused, he said nothing, simply watching with curious amusement as the horse stretched his large neck out in order to rummage around the tack in the box set against one of the walls. He shook his head slightly at the thought that the stable master most certainly would not be happy to find his neat equipment disorderly and entirely _not_ where he'd left it before attending the festival. No doubt he would know who the culprit was – Aeglos was not far off Lord Glorfindel's horse on the mischief scale!

He turned, and Legolas noticed he had his saddle pack hanging between his lips. Raising his eyebrow higher, he reached for it and took it into his own hands, watching while the horse shook his great head in apparent satisfaction that he'd taken it. Smiling at his antics, he opened the pack and looked inside, heart almost skipping a beat at the sight of the flowers he'd picked earlier on in the day. After all that had happened, he had quite forgotten about them, and so he deeply appreciated the reminder. "Thank you, mellon nin," he said gently, moving forward to place his forehead against the horse's. Aeglos nickered softly and drew back a moment later, nudging the elf with his nose towards the exit to the stables. Legolas chuckled and, receiving the message, walked out, the beast following close behind. Once they made it out, he stepped over to him, grabbed a fistful of white mane, and with grace only an elf possessed, swung himself onto Aeglos's back. "Come on, then," he said, and the horse immediately trotted off, knowing exactly in which direction he was going.

* * *

A stone statue of the Queen had been made in her remembrance and honour only a short while after her death. It was angelic. Serene. Beautiful. And Legolas somehow always found himself there if ever he felt a little lost. Perhaps that had been where his destination would have been in the first place had Aeglos not interrupted him. Either way he was glad he was going there now. Had his father been with him, the two most definitely would have walked there together, whether during or after the celebrations, it did not matter.

The water cascading from the fountain of which the memorial statue had been carved into in front of him provided the most perfect atmosphere to sit and think. Aeglos slowed as they neared it, bending his head down towards the ground in a way that Legolas believed was almost akin to a bow. He smiled, patting the animal's neck and jumping off. There was a large cluster of flowers surrounding the fountain, and an even larger bunch growing at the foot of the statue, making the picture look all the more prettier. Reaching into the saddle bag and gently pulling out the bouquet of flowers he had picked, he walked towards it and kneeled in front of it. "Here you go, Nana," he said quietly. "More flowers for your beautiful garden." He absently stroked the petals of the flowers which he knew had been chosen by his father, sighing softly, and then placed them down in their rightful place, leaning them up against the stone. He sat back, glancing up at the face of his mother and immediately feeling a sense of warmth fill him.

He shut his eyes and clasped his hands together, revelling in the sound of the water rushing down, Aeglos munching on the grass behind him, the distant chorus of the Kingdom partying, the wind softly blowing past him… it was melodic. It calmed him instantly, and he found himself in more peace than he had been in the whole day. Breathing a sigh of relief, he visibly relaxed and let whatever pain he was feeling wash away.

Trust in Arandur was all he had left, now. He _would_ discover some kind of answers tomorrow, he _would_ come back for him in the morning, and _they_ would find the King. Alive. He nodded to himself. Yes. They would. They had to.

"I hope you are watching over him, Nana… wherever he is. Keep him safe for us."

* * *

"The tracks stop here, Captain. There are no signs as to where they could have gone next. They covered themselves quite well."

Arandur shut his eyes and breathed out, composing himself and attempting to rid his mind of the irritation he felt. He had begun to think he'd found something in the mere fire from their torches and the meagre amount of light Ithil allowed them – sets of footprints led out from the waterfall, and they had been following them for a while, but, looking down now, he could see that the ground had been purposefully ruined to cover them.

Biting his bottom lip, he sat straight on his horse and looked around for a moment. "Scour the surrounding area," he ordered to the warriors behind him. "Look for anything besides footprints that may alert us to their direction." They nodded quickly and scattered immediately, leaving Arandur to sigh and glance down once again at the muddied prints.

"Perhaps we should all go in different directions. Split up and see what we can find." He looked beside him as Eredhion walked up to him on his horse. He looked solemn… tired… completely drained. And he was not surprised. Both he and Andaer, who he could distantly see searching around the trees for broken branches, had been in the woods since early morning. Where he had had the chance to refresh himself before riding out again, his two friends had been wandering around the forest for the majority of the day, searching for anything which could lead them to their king's whereabouts. And Eredhion… Lairion had been a close friend to them all, but he knew Eredhion would suffer his loss above them all. From what he knew, the two had grown up together, following their dreams to become part of the King's Royal Guard by joining Arandur's training group as elflings and progressing on from there. They had definitely been two of his most promising students, and he'd been beyond proud when they'd been enlisted as warriors of Greenwood.

When he and the forty ellyn he had taken with him arrived at the waterfall, they'd helped to take care of the bodies of those they had fought against before gently lifting Lairion's lifeless body onto a litter they'd brought from the palace and leaving it in a hidden area by the waterfall so they could bring him home on their way back and return him to his sister.

It had not been too long since they'd started following the tracks Andaer had found, but apparently they had just been wasting time.

His mouth opened to question his friend on whether or not he was feeling alright, but his hesitation was enough to tell him that perhaps it was best not to ask and bring up unwanted memories. "Maybe," he said, turning back to the track ahead of them. "We shall see what we can find here before we resort to that, however. Splitting up would do us no good if one team were to run into people they would rather not meet."

Eredhion nodded in understanding. "How is the Prince? I expected him to arrive with you."

"He expected that, too," Arandur assured him, "but I would not allow it. I told him that he must stay to host the night's celebrations, but to be quite frank, I knew he would not get through it if he went with me. He would push himself into finding his adar and then blame himself if things did not go the way we would have liked." He sighed, shifting his horse's reigns through his fingers, and shook his head. "I told him we will return for him first thing in the morning. He should feel better after sleep… _if_ he sleeps," he added as an afterthought.

"Stubbornness courses through his veins like blood," Eredhion said.

Arandur chuckled lowly and turned to look at him. "Like father, like son."

The two smiled, a brief respite from the day they'd had, but their heads quickly snapped to the side at the sound of thundering hooves. Instinctively, both dew their swords, faces set like stone, and tightened their grips on their horses' reigns. In no time at all, their sharp eyes just about caught sight of a horse galloping straight towards them through the darkness. Both rose their swords higher, but by the time the rider was visible, their shock simply overpowered them, and they lowered them just as quickly.

Arandur shook his head in absolute disbelief. "Dûrion!" he exclaimed. "What- what _happened_ to you? Where were you? The King!"

Dûrion pulled back on his horse and turned him as he approached the warriors. He was breathing heavily, but apart from that Arandur was surprised to find that he did, in fact, seem to be totally uninjured. "I was taken with the King, Captain," he said breathlessly, "but I managed to escape at the last minute. I stole this horse, but I did not have enough time to gather any weapons."

Eredhion gawked at him. "You were taken? By who?"

He shook his head. "I do not know who they are, or what their intentions are, but they seem to be very unprepared. They are a small village… there are not many living there at all, meaning we should have the advantage entirely."

"Do you think you can find the way back?"

Dûrion looked at him for a moment and glanced over at Arandur. He nodded once. "I do."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Adar - Father**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Nana - Mum**

**Hannon le - Thank you**

**Ada - Dad**

**Naneth - Mother**

**Mellon nin - My friend**


	6. Drifting Away

"The arrow was _poisoned_, Urúvion. If we do not take it out and tend to his wound, then he will be dead before the Prince finds us and your plan comes to."

Urúvion grasped the elleth by the shoulders. "_Our_ plan, Faelwen. _Ours_. And, for the _last_ time, _no_. We do not have enough medical supplies to waste on a pitiful king. Surely what happened to Thalion is proof of that?" She didn't respond, quickly averting her eyes and staring down at the ground. Urúvion reached out and tipped her head up with a gentle finger under her chin. "I am going out to ensure there are warriors placed around the village and beyond. I will be back shortly."

"But the King-"

"_Will live!_" he hissed, causing Faelwen's eyes to widen before she subconsciously stepped back. Urúvion watched her with a steady gaze and sighed, glancing quickly to the opposite side of the room. Their captive was still there, slumped against the beam he was tied to, head dipped forward with his chin touching his chest. Even from his place and the surrounding darkness, he could see that his eyes were closed, a pained expression on his face. He turned back to the elleth. "We did not put enough poison on the tip of that arrow to kill him, only render him almost immobile. An easy way to get someone to comply with you. He is hurting, yes, but he will live to see his son die, and after that-" He paused, straightening, and a glint appeared in his eye. "Well," he said quietly, "after that, whatever happens to him will happen to his leg, so what will be the point?"

Faelwen nodded once, blinking, her entire body tense. She tried not to move as the ellon walked forward and took her hands in his before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "This will soon all be over," he whispered. "Our son shall be avenged, and we will finally be able to live in peace." Faelwen made no move to answer, simply tugging her hands from his grasp and turning to walk away. Urúvion stared after her for a moment before marching off in the opposite direction. "I will not be gone long," he called back. "Do _not_ talk to him!"

There were guards stationed at the door, both inside and out. Faelwen knew that. She could _see_ them. However, she also knew that the two inside were young ellyn, only mere elflings at the time of the devastation which befell their village. They already looked nervous, hands tight around the hilts of their swords and anxious eyes darting to and from the King. Faelwen stood tall and, without a backward glance, strode outside to the water pump, filled a cup, and walked back into the barn. Neither guard said anything as she moved soundlessly over to the King and knelt in front of him, instead glancing a little apprehensively at each other.

Thranduil did not move an inch, even as her shadow fell over him, and she felt a stab of empathy. He was clearly in pain – his chest was heaving, and his face was pale from where she could see beneath the curtain of hair. She was not sure if he was awake or even conscious, and though she needed to gain his attention, she was unsure on how she should address him. After warring with herself for a small moment, she soon settled on what she believed would be the correct way. "Hir nin?" she asked softly, quickly turning her head when the guards spluttered protests. "He did not say no to giving him a drink, did he? He needs to keep hydrated, else he will get worse than he already is becoming and therefore will not be conscious – or even possibly _alive_ – for when my husband returns home with the Prince." Both looked at each other before one gave a hesitant nod and the two returned to their previous stations. Faelwen breathed a sigh of relief and looked back at the blond. "Hir nin?" she repeated, and this time, he gently lifted his head, tired eyes gazing suspiciously at her. There was so much anguish swirling in the depth of those blue pools that it was almost difficult to look at them, but the elleth composed herself before stretching the arm holding the cup out. "I brought you water," she explained quietly.

Thranduil gazed at her for a few seconds, expression not shifting in the slightest, before he opened his mouth to speak. "I heard Urúvion," he said hoarsely. "You are not to speak to me."

Faelwen gently shook her head. "You must drink, or you will die of dehydration before you die of your wound. He may be my husband, but I refuse to let him tell me what to do on this account."

"But you would not tell him that."

His steady gaze made her move a little uncomfortably at the question she was suddenly faced with, and it did not change as she looked down to the ground. "He has a temper," she told him, voice quiet.

Thranduil lifted his head a little more and flicked his eyes to the cup in her hand. In all honesty, he would have loved to down that water in one go, but he could not help the nagging feeling tugging on his heart. "I do not wish to get you in trouble."

Faelwen opened her mouth a little, and something changed in her expression, though he wasn't entirely sure what it was. The corners of her lips turned upwards into a small smile, and she stretched the cup out further. "He will not know," she assured him. "Please. Drink it." He sighed after a while and blinked tiredly, as though keeping himself awake. With a slight nod, he did not protest when she moved forward and held the cup to his lips, helping him drink for his hands were still tied. Once it had gone, he gasped for breath and leant his head back.

"Thank you..?"

"Faelwen." She was not overly sure as to why she did not think twice about telling him her name.

Thranduil nodded. "Thank you, Faelwen. I would introduce myself, but I have an inkling you already know who I am."

She suddenly felt uncomfortable all over again, and subconsciously bit her lip. Her eyes wandered over to his stretched-out leg, still housing the arrow. "I am sorry," she said sincerely. "I would tend to your wound, but I cannot do it alone, and the other ellith have been ordered to do no such thing… they are not as willing to defy his orders as I am."

Thranduil frowned as much as the pain in his face allowed. "Only the ellith?"

"Well… we have no male healers left. The only ones we do have are ellith, and they are- _we_ are not as passionate about this plan as the ellyn in our group. Even then, a lot of them are doing this for Urúvion, not for themselves."

"I see."

Faelwen looked at him a while longer before reverting her gaze to his leg. Glancing over at the guards, she found that they were quietly conversing with each other. She looked back at him. "Do you mind?" she asked, pointing at his leg. "I just want to see how bad it is."

Thranduil released a breathless – yet clearly pained – laugh. "_I_ can tell you how bad it is," he said seriously, but nodded his head towards it, nonetheless.

Faelwen moved over to it and gently reached for the fabric of his trousers that had been pierced by the arrow. It was, of course, stained red, but thankfully it had been ripped enough for her to gently tear it apart further and assess the wound. It seemed her husband had been right about one thing; if there had been a lot of poison on the arrow, then the wound would have looked much more festered. As it was, the site was incredibly swollen, bruised, and caked in dried blood. The arrow was blocking any more blood from escaping – a good thing, really, if Urúvion was going to stick with his orders of not removing it – but if it remained in there longer, it was bound to lead to infection and it _would_ eventually kill him. She sighed internally. That was if her husband did not get to him first.

"_Faelwen!_ You are not supposed to talk to him! Step away!" A shout from across the room made the elleth's head snap up to face the two guards, who had since stopped talking and were instead entirely fixated on her. She felt the King jolt a little under her hands when she accidentally pressed down on the inflamed skin surrounding the arrow in surprise at the shouts.

Shutting her eyes in brief annoyance, she turned back to look at Thranduil. "I am sorry," she whispered, and Thranduil could do nothing but nod slowly as she quickly – yet gingerly – rearranged the torn fabric of his trousers, picked up the empty mug, and walked back to the guards. When she reached them, she practically shoved past them to walk outside the barn.

The corners of Thranduil's lips turned up the tiniest bit at that. She reminded him of someone.

* * *

"Legolas?"

The Prince of Greenwood jolted awake as soon as, somewhere in his tired mind, he made out the sound of someone calling his name. Quite surprisingly, he felt himself sliding down something before hitting what was supposedly the ground with a soft thud, abruptly shaking him from his sleep-riddled brain. Blinking, he turned his head up to face Arandur, who was still sat upon his horse.

"Have you been here all night?" he asked with a raise of an eyebrow, and Legolas stumbled to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He turned and noticed he was still at his mother's statue.

"You told me to sleep."

"In a bed, you half-wit." He rolled his eyes before jumping down from his horse. Legolas's thoughts decided to catch up with him in that very moment, however, as he suddenly took in his friend's armour and the sword at his belt. Eyes widening, he stepped forward, clasping his shoulders.

"Have you found him? _Any_thing? Do you know where he is?" His eyes briefly flicked to the side at the sight of the warriors who had accompanied Arandur crowding around the stables. A dark-haired elf crossed his line of vision and he could have sworn he stopped breathing for one short second. "Is- is that _Dûrion_?" he asked, swiftly turning back to Arandur.

Arandur reached up and pried the Prince's hands from his shoulders. "Calm down," he said, gripping the hands in his own. "Yes, it is Dûrion. We found him before we decided to ride back – he says he escaped the King's captors and was on his way back here when he found us."

For a brief moment, a glimmer of hope shone in Legolas's eyes, and he swallowed thickly. "Well, then I must speak with him! He will know where we are supposed to go!" He moved to race past Arandur and straight to his warriors but was briskly stopped by the hands still tightly grasping his own.

"Wait just a moment, Legolas," Arandur told him, pulling him back into place. "I have been thinking and I- I fear we are missing something, here."

Legolas stared at him for a moment before shaking his head impatiently. "Missing something? What do you mean?" Arandur glanced back at the group of warriors for a moment. He turned the blond around and began to walk him away from the stables. His face was entirely unreadable, and Legolas was consequently finding it extremely difficult trying to make sense of where his head was currently residing. _Surely_ he understood that there was no time to waste. As his mouth opened to voice these thoughts, Arandur continued.

"When we found Dûrion, he was completely devoid of any injuries. No cuts, no bruises… no broken bones. He is utterly unscathed," he told him, still walking.

Legolas frowned. "He is a good warrior, Ara, it could merely be-"

"No, no, I do _not_ believe it is a coincidence. Look at _us_. I am grazed all over, Eredhions's forearm has been fractured, Andaer is nicked everywhere you can see… even you are looking fairly bruised yourself. Lairion is dead, Legolas. _Dead_. They were sent there with the intent to _kill_ us, and the only reason we are not currently six feet under the ground is because they got to Thranduil a lot sooner than they expected." Legolas went quiet at the mention of his dead friend but did not interrupt. "That intent to kill, however, did not seem to be aimed at Dûrion. Why was he taken by the captors, when the rest of us were fighting for our lives? And then he... magically manages to escape them without sustaining injuries yet _again_?" He shook his head, staring raptly at the Prince as his eyes narrowed with deep concentration. "And at the waterfall… it was him who went to search out that exact location. Those we fought against were hidden behind bushes, in trees… there is no chance that they could have been missed, unless he truly was not scoping the area out at all."

Legolas's frown deepened and he stopped, feeling Arandur cease walking beside him. "He was there for at least a half hour. He told us the area was clear."

Arandur nodded, stepping back and releasing his hands. "Yes. Exactly. And what did he say after you had pulled me into the water?"

"He told you to stay." He did not even have to think about it. "That he and the others were fine to keep watch themselves." Glancing up, he slowly shook his head. "Climbing out of the water and then fighting while completely soaked was a _big_ disadvantage."

"And he heard me say to you that the moment I come off duty, a part of your protection completely desists." Arandur sighed heavily and bit his bottom lip, turning his head upwards to stare at the dark red and orange hues painted by the early sunrise. "I am not sure, Legolas," he said after a while. His friend was still clearly processing everything, running it all through his slowly awakening mind. "Of course, it may be nothing, but the whole thing just seems too perfect to be anything but a planned ambush. Dûrion was told of the ride weeks ago. He was there at breakfast, when your Adar said he would be joining us, and he had enough time while scoping to let certain people know of the changed plans. Now, I do not want to accuse somebody of a wrongdoing they did not commit, but-"

"No, no, your suspicions are well placed, Ara." He looked at him for a moment, the both of them locking eyes immediately. "If there has been a traitor within our walls all this time and we did not know-" He started and sucked in a deep breath as his senses quickly alerted him to another presence, and he turned as his eyes caught sight of Dûrion. If only it had been his horse.

"Dûrion," he greeted, reaching over and clapping the ellon's shoulder before embracing him for the briefest of moments. "I am beyond glad to see you safe and well. You say you remember where they took you? Is the King there?"

Dûrion gravely nodded once. "Yes, Hir nin, I believe I can remember the way back. As far as I know, our king is safe and well. An arrow pierced his leg, as you well know, but besides that he is keeping strong and is fighting still."

Legolas grit his teeth, wondering how much he could possibly believe. "And the ambushers?" he asked. "Do you know anything about them that may help us?"

"Well, they are elves, that much I am sure of, though I believe that was fairly self-explanatory when you saw their fighting styles." He chanced a look over to his captain, who was nodding along with him, taking in every word he said, just as the Prince was. "They took us both back to a village… a small one. Quite derelict, very hidden, and though the residents are good with the sword, the majority of them seemed to be at the battle we partook in. All I could see in the village were ellyth and elflings… any ellon who happened to be there, I was able to recognise him from the fight."

Arandur frowned. "So, you are saying that they do not have many warriors? That we should be able to win this fight?"

He nodded, turning to him. "I believe so. Sixty or so warriors should be all we need."

Legolas's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. "Make it eighty. I will leave it to you, Dûrion. Ensure there are healers among the group and meet back here as soon as everyone is ready. We leave upon the hour." Dûrion nodded briskly at both ellyn before turning and jogging back to his group, shouting orders as he went. Legolas watched him for a moment before he turned and strode in the direction both he and Arandur had been going in to begin with – towards the palace.

Arandur wasted no time in rushing after him. "Legolas, are you quite _mad_?" he whispered harshly, matching his pace immediately. "Did you not _hear_ a word I said? Dûrion will take this to his advantage. You know he did not tell us the correct number of elves in that village! We will be severely outnumbered with less than one hundred of our warriors!"

Legolas shook his head and rose his eyebrows, swiftly stopping and causing his mentor to have to dig his heels into the soft ground in order to stop. "An ounce of patience would do you a lot of good right about now, Arandur. _You_ taught me that." Arandur huffed, clearly growing irritated with all this secrecy, and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the blond to speak yet again. "We must let Dûrion believe he has the upper hand and we are oblivious to his plans – which, of course, may be non-existent." He nodded towards him and Arandur furrowed his brows, before lowering his voice. "I need you to arrange a separate group. One in which _nobody_ except you and I will know about. This group will follow in secret behind the one we shall travel in, arranged by Dûrion, and should we be in need of them, they will join us once we give the signal. A hundred or more warriors, Ara. And more healers. We must be well prepared for whatever they may throw at us if it is indeed a trap."

Arandur's golden eyes averted down to the ground as he thought over his words. "So… your plan is that we trick Dûrion into believing we do not suspect anything?"

"Exactly that."

His lips curled up into a small smirk. "Not bad, Princeling."

Legolas rolled his eyes before patting his friend's shoulder and walking back, calling over his shoulder. "Thank you. Now, quickly. We shall meet back here in thirty minutes."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Adar - Father**


	7. Never-ending

He guessed it had not been long since Faelwen left him, but his internal clock was very much as broken as the rest of him. As soon as she'd exited the barn, the pain had increased rather dramatically in his leg – a searing, stinging pain that made his body wish to expel the absolute nothingness that was currently sitting in his stomach. It had since dinned to a slight burning, but the rest of his leg was utterly numb.

And so, he really was not sure how he had expected to make his escape there and then.

He blamed it on his both confused and tired brain, which, in retrospect, it most likely had been. He could not find himself thinking straight at all, but when the two guards who had been stationed at the door moved outside after assuring themselves that he was asleep – which he hadn't been, of course – he quickly set about getting himself loose. He had been working on the ropes tying his hands together behind his back, rubbing them every so often against the wooden beam as fast as his weakening strength would allow him, and he'd finally reached the point in which, using the last of his power, he could swiftly break his hands apart and consequently snap the ropes.

And he did. As soon as he heard the guards leave, he gathered up every ounce of strength he had and broke the rope. His addled mind failed to inform him of the important facts – the main one being that there really did not seem to be another way out other than that exact door, and he knew there were guards stationed outside it, too. Nevertheless, he did not find he could care any less. He needed to get out, and how he got out seemingly flew straight past him.

He also, apparently, forgot that he physically could not move his leg… so whatever possessed him that made him think he could possibly _walk_ on it was a mystery in its entirety. But, he tried, grabbing onto the beam for support and heaving himself up on his good leg, bad one dragging along. He gasped in pain, but his sheer determination pushed him along. In a matter of seconds, he was up and leaning against it; panting heavily and only standing on one leg, but up, nonetheless. It did not help that he had been sat down for the past however long he had been there, and a wave of dizziness overcame him as he got to his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to pass, tears springing to the corners of them, but the moment his vision was clear once again – or as clear as it could possibly be with the state he was in – he braved it and took a step forward.

A string of curses left his lips as he suddenly fell forward, his bad leg giving way and practically collapsing under him. The ground came up to meet him a lot sooner than he would have liked, but thankfully his reflexes were working enough for him to put his arms out in front of him and subsequently stop his face from smacking the hard ground. There was a large thud, however, and he could not help but groan as the door to the barn flew open and footsteps came at him. "What has he done?" one asked, voice stricken with surprise.

"Probably tried to escape, though Valar _knows_ why he believed he would be able to do it with that leg! Taenaran, was it you who tied his hands? Come and see what a lousy job you made of that!"

Thranduil moved and immediately heard noises of surprise as the footsteps sounded once again and rushed over to him. He supposed they had thought he'd been knocked unconscious by his fall. Well, he certainly was not far off.

He hissed in pain as three elves hauled him up and pushed him back against the beam. A further two were stood to the side, swords drawn and eyes boring into him. He was swiftly tied up again, and the wince of pain which came with the tightening of the ropes seemed to please them in regard to how secure he was this time around. He was quite ready to give in and succumb to the lulls of sleep, and would have done exactly that if it weren't for the sudden pain which shot through his leg not a second later. Shouting in both surprise and anguish, he jerked forwards, heart beating a mile a minute. The elf who had his hand on the arrow glared at him. "Do not try it again, King," he said, but before he could speak another word, a gasp of shock sounded at the door.

"_What are you doing?!_" Ah. Faelwen. Thranduil could not help but open his eyes at the sound of her voice. He glanced up and was just about able to make out the flurried shape of her moving quickly towards him. "No, no!" she shouted, falling to her knees and all but pushing the ellon away from his leg. "You will kill him! Leave him be!"

The ellon, looking quite appalled, gestured towards him with wild hands. "He was trying to escape!"

"All that matters is he is _still_ here and has _not_ escaped." She heaved a sigh and turned her attention directly towards the leg, gently yet swiftly moving the ripped material aside again and visibly deflating at the sight of it. "You have dislodged it," she said, turning to look pointedly at the ellon behind her, "and it is bleeding freshly yet again. Now, you have forced me to have to take the arrow out and stitch and tend to that wound before he bleeds to death. If Urúvion asks later why the arrow is not still in his leg – which, I assure you, he _will_ – then I shall tell him it was your fault. Now, make yourself useful and fetch me a needle, thread, clean water, a rag, some herbs, and three or more of our healers, and then go back to your stations before you land yourself in further trouble!"

They did as was asked immediately, bringing back the medicinal items and handing them to Faelwen before moving to watch from a further distance. As requested, three ellith bustled in immediately after, anxious expressions on their faces subsiding at seeing the state Thranduil was in. Faelwen assured them that what they were helping with would be greatly appreciated by her husband and, with that, they did not waste any time in getting to work, Thranduil being all too happy to cooperate. As much as he knew the pain would soon overpower him, he also knew it would be worse if it was left in. He was not a healer, but he had been around enough injuries – a fair few of them being his own – to know the basics. A weapon stuck in a wound could act like a lifesaver in most instances, but it was only a matter of time before that exact lifesaver quickly began to change and make the wound worse.

Thranduil bit down hard on the belt that had been put in his mouth – teas for pain relief were apparently a rarity for them – as the arrow was quickly yet expertly taken out of his leg, yelling in absolute agony the whole while. Faelwen had attempted to soothe him by saying no part of the arrow had broken off in the wound, therefore the worst of it was done, but she could tell by the look on his face that he was too busy attempting not to pass out to listen to her words. The ellith cleansed the wound and held the cloths fast against it to gauze the blood, levitating the leg slightly to help.

A great deal of time, patience and pain later, the bleeding had apparently stopped enough for them to pack it with special herbs and such that would apparently help rid the site of any poison and prevent infection. That had hurt immensely, and tears were streaming down the King's face before they had barely even started. He was suddenly finding that this must have been what those elves had felt like… the village did not have enough or proper equipment to effectively deal with injuries such as his own, and he was quite sure that, though what Faelwen had done now would help, it would not save him completely. There were simply not enough supplies. Even Urúvion had made it clear to his wife that no amount of medicine was to be used on him because of the plain fact that they could not afford it. He wondered briefly how the village had come to be like this – he had used to be so in touch with his people, even those outside his palace and in the woods. How had he never even seen this one before? Or remembered it, at least – but his thoughts were interrupted as Faelwen spoke.

"I am going to stitch it, now," she informed him, and Thranduil breathlessly nodded. She was covered with blood – on her hands, on her dress – and yet she still did not seem to be giving up on him. Why that was, he had no idea, but he did not have long to dwell on it as she began to suture his wound.

He tasted blood in his mouth almost immediately after he had bitten down on the belt, and he guessed he had somehow caught his lip or tongue between his teeth. Fortunately, Faelwen finished her job soon, and immediately after she worked on cleaning up the blood around the newly treated wound after thanking the healers and sending them away. Needless to say, Thranduil was close to dropping off completely by the end. He was not ashamed to say that tears were streaking down his face, tracking the blood and mud. His eyes were shut tight, and he was panting more than he had ever done so before. His entire body was trembling, though he did not realise it until Faelwen placed a hand on his good leg to still it.

He cracked his eyes open to look at her. "It is done, Hir nin," she told him softly, and he soundlessly flicked his eyes over to where the arrow had been embedded in his leg. The wound had indeed been closed, cleaned, and covered with a bandage, and he knew that once the pain subsided, it would feel significantly better.

"Hannon le," he said quietly, shutting his eyes once again. "Truly. It does feel better knowing there is no longer a poisoned arrow in me."

Faelwen smiled a little sadly. "Yes, well… unfortunately, our medicinal supplies are not great, therefore there may be… complications. I am uncertain to what extent, or if there will even be any, but… well. Be warned." Thranduil nodded, though she doubted he had fully processed what she'd said. She imagined the pain had been quite something to bear, and that had been what he'd chosen to concentrate on. She did not blame him; she had dealt with many elves who'd had arrows and such in their own legs and had screamed far more than Thranduil had – not to mention the fact that she did not believe any of them had ever been poisoned before. He was strong, of that she was certain, but he _was_ the King of the very forest she lived in, after all.

"Why did you do it?" She glanced up as he spoke – a little quiet and raspy but clear enough all the same. "Why did you help me?" He opened both eyes a little and looked at her. She turned her head down to the medical supplies she was cleaning in the water.

"If you had not survived, Urúvion's plan would fail."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed and he gently shook his head. "Why do I feel as though that is not the only reason?" he asked.

Faelwen's hands stilled for a second, but she continued on as quickly as she had stopped. She bit her lip, feeling the intensity of the ellon's stare despite him not trying all too hard, and she was not entirely sure why she suddenly felt compelled to tell him. Sighing in slight defeat, she visibly relaxed her shoulders and slowed in her cleansing. "When I lost my son, my grief was… indescribable." Her voice was quiet, an underlying hint of pain running through it clear as day. Thranduil neither said anything nor moved, simply listening. "I did not speak to anyone for months… my only way of coping was by distracting myself with healing the wounded and helping around the village. If I ever got a moment alone…" She shook her head, hair falling to cover her face. "Well. I was not myself."

"I understand."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "I know you do. Which is why I am telling you this." She sat up a little more, blood-soaked hands resting on her knees. "I do not blame you. My husband may, and much of the village may, but I… how can I blame you when I would have done the same thing?" She heaved a deep breath and briskly returned to her cleaning. "You… the person Urúvion made you out to be is the image stuck in everyone's minds. He said you were soulless… never one to help anyone except yourself. He told the village that it was your fault, which is why they all regard you with such contempt… but I know that cannot be true. Of course, the medical supplies would have helped, and some may still be alive today, but if your grief was anything like mine, then I know you were not in your right mind." She looked up at him as though to confirm her thoughts.

Thranduil absently nodded. "Yes… I do not remember much from that time. I admit, I was a cold king for a long while… caring for nothing, not even myself, exactly the ellon you have just described… but I soon came to see the light." He drifted off slightly, tilting his head down. "That light was my son, you see. It took me some time, but I eventually learned how to live once again. If I had been any form of sane at all, I promise you, I would have sent as many supplies and healers as you needed." Sincerity was shining in his eyes, and Faelwen could do nothing but stare at them, taking in every word. "But as you said… I lost all sense of direction during that time. If anyone tried to speak to me, I turned them away. It is likely I did that to the one who told me of what Urúvion and his warriors did for my wife… for my son. For _me_." He blinked, overcome with a sudden wave of emotion, but when his eyes filled with tears, joining the ones still there, he found he could not quite care. The memories of the time that had truly ruined him were becoming just as fresh as the day he had found out about his beautiful Alassiel. He supposed it was because he never quite had the time to sit and think this deeply about her, and when he did… he didn't. Yet sitting here, in a position as vulnerable as it was, he could not help but say what was on his mind. After all, only _Eru_ knew how much longer he had left on the planet.

"The Prince… what is he like?" His glassy eyes roved over to her, immediately taking in the soft smile. His own mouth moved into one not a second later.

"He is definitely something," he said with a breathy chuckle. "Strong-willed… wild at times, but he is still a young thing, and can put that little trait behind him when need be. He is incredibly skilled with both the sword and bow, though he has been training since he was an elfling. He is… kind, selfless, consistently doing all he can for the good of others… one of many things he shared with his naneth."

Faelwen's small smile turned sad, and she sighed. "He sounds…"

"Like the perfect son," Thranduil finished for her, smile widening and tears growing. "He is. As I am sure yours was to you." Anyone else mentioning her son would have received an impassive expression before being completely ignored and pushed as she walked past… she knew that. Nevertheless, Thranduil's talking of his own son lit something inside her, and she felt the ability to talk about him confidently rise in her. "What was his name?" the ellon asked, taking her smile as a sign to continue.

"Thalion," she replied. "And, yes, he was the most perfect son. Much like yours… I know that now."

Thranduil nodded. "Him saving my son definitely proved that. I would like to have met him."

Faelwen glanced up at him, eyes shining. "Oh, you would have loved him, I am sure. He was always doing that… making people love him, wherever he went. Such a happy thing." She shook her head. "But, clearly, his sacrifice was not in vain. I am glad he passed honourably, if it means you were able to live a life with your son."

He smiled back, though it was more forceful than before. To tell her that his sacrifice may very well be in vain if Urúvion's plan to kill the one his son had rescued was still to be played out… did not seem appropriate. Instead, he went silent for a moment, Faelwen following in his stead, the both of them thinking to themselves. "I am sorry you have had to live without a son for so many years. If I did not have mine, then I would have no reason to continue on. No reason to live."

Faelwen hesitated briefly. "Yes…"

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How long has Dûrion been scheming with you?" He was not entirely sure if she would answer it, but he believed their recent discussion had caused her to be a little more soft-hearted, for the time being. As hoped for, she looked up not a second later, doubt shining in her eyes, yet her mouth opened to speak, nonetheless.

"Not long. Since he was enlisted in your guard."

He nodded. He had expected as much. Of course, there had always been the possibility that the ellon's reason for joining his ranks had been purely to fight for his king, and he had somehow wound up under Urúvion's orders along the way… but it had seemed unlikely. He had always been a secretive elf, though Thranduil had never thought much of it after enrolling him. He was, after all, not associated with the warriors as much as Legolas was. "He did not fight alongside everyone here, did he?" he asked, though he knew the answer. Dûrion, though a good warrior, was clearly young, and he highly doubted he would have been old enough at the time to fight in the battle that had commenced with the orcs and his wife's travelling company.

Faelwen shifted, obviously a little uncomfortable, and Thranduil noticed it. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before slowly shaking her head. "No… he did not. He was an elfling at the time. But… he was taught, as all the elflings here are taught, that retribution was the best way to go about what happened… and so he grew up as a fighter, being trained every day, all day, until he was able to join the Royal Guard. His pure motivation has been to- to avenge his brother's death."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes in no more than suspicion and confusion. Of course, it would not be a surprise if he had lost someone in the battle – from what he had been told, many had – but the way Faelwen was telling him caused him to feel some sort of confusion.

"Is there… something more you wish to say?" he asked, hesitant as to whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

The elleth sighed before sitting straight and looking him in the eyes. She nodded once. "Hir nin… Dûrion is my son."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Naneth - Mother**


	8. Painted Red

The almost peaceful quietness of the village disintegrated at the sound of someone shouting, and then hundreds of feet moving around, horses whinnying, and iron hitting iron as weapons were taken from racks and stands. Faelwen looked towards the door to the barn. She had been sat on a chair in a corner, sewing a few items of clothing which belonged to the elflings of the village, though her main reason for being there was to keep a careful eye on their prisoner. She did not trust the guards to leave him alone, and she was, quite frankly, worried on account of whether he would pull through or not. He was currently sleeping, something she thanked Eru for, as he was clearly gaining some sort of relief from the pain, but his brows were still furrowed together in discomfort.

She swallowed thickly at the sound of everyone rushing around, yelling at each other, calling to the ellith and elflings to get back indoors. Her hands stilled, and she sat back on the chair, eyes focused on the door. The guards immediately moved back after they seemingly heard a particular set of footfalls grow louder outside the door, and a moment later it swung open, Urúvion striding in, armour covering his body and sword in his hand. His eyes immediately flicked over to Thranduil, and his expression hardened the moment he caught sight of his leg.

"I believe I told you to keep the arrow _in_ his leg," he growled, head snapping back to face Faelwen. She stood to her feet as he walked towards her.

"You did, but _some_thing-" She glanced at the nervously watching guards by the door- "changed, and I was forced to remove it. If I hadn't, he would be dead right now, I can promise you." Urúvion narrowed his eyes but his wife kept her gaze unwavering, and he soon broke away from her.

"Our plan is falling into place," he said with a smile, staring at the King. "Dûrion is taking the Prince and his warriors to a place not far from here, where over one hundred of our own will meet them. They will fight, they will overpower them, and they will capture the Prince and take him here."

Faelwen frowned lightly. "And what of you?"

"I will be waiting, saving my strength."

He visibly tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and Faelwen bit her lip, shaking her head. "Are you sure this is something you wish to go through?" she asked.

"Surer than I have ever been."

Faelwen hurried over to him, grasping his free hand in both of hers and looking imploringly up at him. "But you could _die_!" she said. "We could _all_ die! Even if the plan _does_ work, and you kill both the Prince and the King… the _whole of Greenwood_ will be after us! Is this truly something worth risking your _life_ over? _Our_ lives?" Urúvion looked at her for a moment through expressionless eyes before turning to face her.

"Yes, the probability of us dying is high. Not today. But, soon? Of course. Yet… I find no unenjoyment in that." He shook his head. "As long as Thalion's death is avenged, I do not care what happens to me. And neither should you."

"But I _do_! I do not _want_ you to die! I do not want _Dûrion_ to die!" She stared at him with wide, shining eyes. "Please… I can_not_ lose another son."

The ellon looked at her a while longer, and, for the briefest of moments, Faelwen wondered if he was finally going to say something she would agree with, but it did not last long. His eyes hardened, and he stared down at her. "If all goes to plan, we will _not_ die," he told her, voice low. "The King and Prince of Greenwood will be gone, and we shall have time to get away before the Kingdom realises."

Faelwen's brows furrowed. "But we will always be hunted!" she said earnestly. "The King and Prince are not _like_ us. They will _not_ be forgotten. The _hundreds of thousands_ of warriors they have will search to the ends of Middle-earth for us, and they will only stop when we are dead, and their monarchs' _murders_ have been avenged." She shook her head, eyes flicking downwards, and lowered her voice. "We will have no quality of life."

"Oh, as if we do _already_," her husband scoffed. He heaved a sigh and enclosed her small hands in one of his larger ones. "What matters is the present. Do you not _care_ about Thalion? Do you not care about the fact that his death – and the deaths of _everyone_ else in our village – have gone unpunished for so long? Do you not care that Dûrion has grown up without his _brother_? Do you not care that the lack of ellyn _greatly_ impacted the economy of our village, and therefore the lives we all led from then onwards?" He paused for a moment before leaning his head forward slightly. "Do you not _care_ that we have the _King_ under our boots, and the Prince a _hairs breadth_ away from our grasp, with all the means to undergo the plan we have been working on for almost _five hundred years_?"

Faelwen fell silent. She pulled her hands from his and lifted her head. "I care."

Urúvion nodded shortly. He tightened his grip on the leather hilt of his sword and glanced down at it. "Then do not question me on it again," he said, a dangerous tint to his voice, before walking over to the King.

He was asleep – or unconscious. He didn't quite care, as long as he was awake when the Prince paid him a visit – and he could not help the smile that crossed his lips. It was truly happening. Thalion… his sweet, sweet Thalion… would finally be recognised. He would finally be avenged. Those were the only coherent thoughts passing through his mind. Any others, some of which may have been logical, were immediately trampled on. He did not care. Revenge was at the forefront of his mind, as it had been for a long time, and there it would stay until the Prince of Greenwood was dead.

* * *

Legolas could not possibly be any more on edge than he already was. He and his warriors had been riding swiftly through the woods for much longer than he liked – they had passed the waterfall almost an hour ago, and Dûrion was currently leading them to the place in which he had apparently been taken to alongside the King. Nevertheless, what with Arandur's – and subsequently his own – doubts about the ellon's loyalty and therefore solidity of this claim, he was on high alert, watching out for anything that was unusual and turning at every sudden noise. Arandur seemed to be fairing the same; he was gripping his sword as though he was only moments away from battle – which, in retrospect, they very well may be – and his eyes were narrowed, scanning the area around them as they had been the entire journey.

The journey itself was taking time Legolas knew they simply did not have. If what Dûrion had said was true, and he had indeed escaped, then his father's captors had every reason to bundle him up and move so that there was a lesser chance of them being found and caught. If they did not get there in time, then they would be gone, and nobody would have the ability to tell him where they had disappeared to. They were riding at a fast-enough pace, but he was still doubtful on whether or not they would make it in time.

As though his mind was spewing these thoughts out into the open, Dûrion turned in the saddle and locked eyes with him. "We are almost there, Hir nin," he assured him with a nod of his head. "The village they took the King and I to is just up ahead. We should be on our guard, in case they have stationed themselves in the trees or hidden on the ground." Legolas nodded back, waiting for him to turn around to face the path ahead before glancing meaningfully back at Arandur. He slowed his horse a little in order to ride at his pace. "Did you hear that?" he asked quietly, leaning over.

The Captain nodded, though he looked a little lost as he stared around them. He shifted slightly and glanced over his shoulder to the warriors riding behind him. "Be on your guard. We are approaching the village." He received nods and 'yes, sir's in response, and dipped his head once in acknowledgment before turning back to the Prince. "How do you suppose this is going to play out?" he asked lowly.

Legolas bit his bottom lip and shook his head. He opened his mouth to reply, when something suddenly pulled him back. He sat up straight in the saddle and glanced around him. _"Legolas." _It was nothing more than a whisper in the wind, but he recognised it immediately and turned his head up to gaze at the large canopies of leaves they were passing under. He shut his eyes, feeling the magic of the woods envelop him and fill him with a calming warmth.

"_Mellyn nin,"_ he whispered in his mind.

"_Greenleaf…"_ the trees responded, rustling their leaves. _"We sense great distress."_

He nodded absentmindedly. _"My adar has been taken hostage. We are unsure of his whereabouts, but one of my warriors claims he escaped from them and is taking us to him now."_

A wild chorus of what could only be protests at that echoed around him and throughout his mind. _"No, no… do not believe the dark-haired… he is full of lies! There are elves hidden in our branches… bad elves… they are hiding beneath us… waiting for you…"_

Legolas felt both anxious and somewhat thankful for this revelation. For one, he now had the trees of the forest's confirmation that Dûrion was, as expected, a traitor to the Kingdom. Nevertheless, it still posed the question of how they were to approach the situation, now that they knew what was and was not. Would it be best to stop the troop and confront him, or let his plan play out and call in the secret party behind them to help? Both risked lives.

Shaking his head, he swallowed nervously. _"Do you know where the King is?"_

"_We saw him being taken back to a village at the edge of the forest… he is being kept there, though we have lost sight of him."_

He tightened his grip on Aeglos's reins, absently biting the inside of his cheek. _"And you believe he is still alright? Why did you not tell me sooner?"_

"_We tried, Greenleaf… we tried… but your mind was too troubled to allow us in. We can still feel the Woodland King… he lives… though our bond with him has weakened, for reasons we are not sure of. You must get to him quickly."_

Legolas nodded sharply. He snapped his eyes open and blinked, reacquainting himself once more with his surroundings.

"What did they say?"

He turned to look at Arandur, who was gazing at him questionably. He had seen enough interactions between the Prince and the Forest to know when one was occurring. Legolas flicked his eyes to the head of the group and, once seeing that Dûrion was still focused entirely on the road, sword gripped tightly in his right hand, he leaned over in the saddle. "You were right to assume what you did," he said, so quiet that it was only possible for Arandur to hear. The elder ellon nodded once, expression hardening.

"We are riding into a trap," he stated.

"Yes… there are elves in the trees and on the ground ahead, waiting to attack."

Arandur heaved a sigh and visibly strengthened the grip he had on his sword's hilt. He glanced over his shoulder to assess those behind them. "What is the plan?" he asked.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and Arandur listened as the leaves around them rustled with the passing breeze. He waited patiently, watching, and after no more than thirty seconds, the blond opened his eyes again and locked onto his gaze. "The trees will tell me where the nearest elf is once we get close enough," he said. "I will point him out, and you will be ready with your bow to shoot him down." Turning slowly, he placed a finger to his lips before holding up his sword. The warriors gained expressions of slight confusion, and curiously glanced to the Captain beside their prince, but neither questioned the command nor hesitated before quietly readying themselves with their swords and bows. Arandur pointed to the trees above them and they glanced up before nodding, realising that they were to be on the lookout. Still, none made a sound. "Did you bring the horn, Ara?"

"Of course. I fear we would be very lost if I had not."

Both straightened in their seats, holding their weapons, perking their ears and sharpening their gazes on every little thing that went on around them. Dûrion stayed quiet, hopefully unaware of both his prince and captain's insight into his plan, and focused on leading the group through the trees. Not two minutes passed before the leaves fluttered once again, and the trees swayed, causing a melody to pass through the forest. The melody was one of worry, however, and one that caused a surge of dread to rush through Legolas. He immediately heard their whispers, and a moment later he turned his head and snapped his gaze up to the trees. "Ara," he said urgently.

Arandur immediately looked up and, in a matter of seconds, he had snatched his bow around, nocked an arrow, and sent it flying straight into the trees. The sound of a nearby shout and a thud as the elf fell to the forest floor signalled him to tighten his reins, turn his horse, and call out to the warriors behind him. "_Ambush!_"

It was quick. Legolas and Arandur hardly had time to glance meaningfully at each other before elves were jumping down from trees and rushing out of previous hiding spots. The Greenwood warriors had been trained to expect surprise attacks and what exactly they were to do in such situations, but nothing could really ever prepare you for the real thing. Nobody knew in which way to go… whether to stay in their saddles or jump off and fight on foot… their faces were battle-ready, and their weapons were held in steel grasps, but the cacophony and wildness ensuing around them was, quite frankly, manic.

It was only really when Legolas's voice rang out in between the shouts and cries that they truly leapt into action. "Into the clearing!" he called out, pointing with his sword towards a large space free of trees not far from the path they had been riding along. He kicked Aeglos on, and he and Arandur galloped side-by-side, cutting down whoever stood in their way. The sound of hooves behind them told them their warriors were following, and as soon as they reached the clearing, it soon became full. It was difficult to count, but it was easy to see that there were far more here than Dûrion had let on. They were rushing at them, and the advantages they possessed – from having the numbers to not having been riding since the early morning – helped dearly. His warriors were skilled, and he did not doubt one bit that if any one of them were to be pit against an ellyn from the opposing side on a good day, he would win with less than five strikes. Nevertheless, this seemed to be the epitome of a _bad_ day. Many in the group had ridden out with Arandur that night, therefore receiving no sleep, and the rest of them had busied themselves with celebrations that had not ended long before Arandur rode home and they were called to prepare themselves for what they were currently dealing with.

To put it simply, his group of less than one hundred were tired and surprised, whereas everyone else seemed battle-crazed, knowledgeable in the fact that they had the numbers, and possessing only one thing in their mind.

Legolas did not have much time to ponder that one thing before the sound of battle drew him back. He looked quickly around him. Most were still on their horses, fighting back with vigour, but a few had been pulled off and were swinging their swords on foot. Arandur was in a small group on the other side of the clearing, slashing and slicing his own weapon with no less than hatred on his face. As for himself…

His yell echoed throughout the trees, mixing with the battle cries of everyone else, as an ellon hurried over to him and attempted to pierce his sword through Aeglos's neck, receiving a well-placed stab wound in his chest. More began to make their way over to him as he snapped his head back around to face where he had seen Arandur before, blond braids swinging behind him. His mentor was fighting well, as were Eredhion and the others in the group, but it was clear that they were swiftly being overpowered. He stabbed his sword through a few other enemies before turning his stallion and kicking his heels. "_Arandur!_" he shouted across the field, sword glinting in the morning sun.

"_What?!_" was the loud response. He quickly looked up in time to see his friend yank his sword out of an ellon's left shoulder blade before zipping his eyes over to meet his own.

Legolas gave him as much a knowing look as he could possibly muster. "Now may be a good time to play us a little song!"

Arandur did not question the words. He yelled back something incoherent before steering his horse to the side and letting go of the reins. Holding his sword in one hand, he reached to his belt, grabbed at the horn which thankfully had not become loose, raised it to his lips, and blew long and hard.

The sound which emanated from it was the call of Greenwood, and though nobody stopped fighting immediately, it died down just enough for heads to turn when roaring hooves resonated in their pointed ears, and eyes to widen when elves bearing the colours of the King's Royal Guard came cantering through the trees, holding their swords high. Legolas could not help the small smile of both pride and pre-victory at the sight of them, and it grew even more so at the looks of terror on those they were fighting against. His own warriors, however, seemed to gain a newfound fire, which burned as passion in their eyes, and they immediately began to fight back twice as hard.

Arandur rose his sword, and his horse lifted his front legs slightly. "_For the_ _King!_" he shouted, and a chorus of agreement followed as they repeated his words. The sound of metal hitting metal rang around the clearing as though it were an iron forge. Legolas swung at whoever approached him and brought each one down – some with the help of Aeglos, who took great pride in hitting enemies with his muscled head – until, while he was pulling his sword from an elf's chest, he was suddenly knocked off his seat.

He let out a noise of both shock and discomfort as his back hit the ground, but was quick to react, pushing off the one who had flown at him and immediately rolling away and to his feet, grabbing up his discarded sword from where it had fallen from his grasp. He stood, panting, feet spread apart, facing Dûrion.

The dark-haired ellon was staring at him maliciously, hunger shining in his black eyes. "You brought _another_ party?" he asked, words dripping with poison, and Legolas gave him a look, twirling his sword around.

"You are not as inconspicuous as you like to think," he told him, and that alone was enough for him to break. He rose his sword and charged at him, bringing it down on the Prince's own weapon with a resounding _clang_. Their faces stood mere inches from each other, giving Legolas the brief opportunity to truly stare into those obsidian orbs. They were swirling with so much hatred that it was difficult for him to believe he had acted so unlike _this _for however long he had been a part of the Guard.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, teeth gritting together as he rooted his feet to the ground and kept his sword in place against Dûrion's.

"Because your mere existence cost me my _brother_!" He aimed a ferocious push at the Prince, and, with a yelp, he staggered back.

Legolas looked at him, confusion masking his face. "Your brother?" he asked. "_Who?_"

Dûrion tilted his head to the side slightly. "His name was Thalion," he breathed out.

Everything else seemed to no longer be a part of this. All the fighting, and the cries, and the death encircling them was of no import to the two elves standing opposite each other, one thirsty for revenge and the other wanting none other than an _explanation_. He shook his head. "I have never heard that name before."

Dûrion let out a low growl before he stalked forwards once again. "_Exactly_." And he let loose a loud yell, raising his sword high and bringing it down on Legolas's. The Prince was surprised for a moment, but his instincts and training soon kicked in, and he pushed – _hard_ – back on his opponent before readying himself once again. His heart was beating harshly, ears filled with the sound of the battle that was not the one between himself and Dûrion, and the panic resonating from the forest around them. If he had looked up, he would have seen that Arandur and his warriors were rapidly managing to shrink Dûrion's small army, closing in on them and fighting with an intensity that would have rivalled the Valar themselves. Nevertheless, his sharp eyes were focused on the ellon fighting him with every ounce of strength he owned.

Their swords met in perfect lament, chiming loudly. The cold wind whipped their hair as they fought, pounding and pummelling and carving and cleaving and lashing and lamming… the space they were given to fight grew bigger as more and more began surrendering to the Greenwood warriors' swords, and it quickly became well used as the two pushed each other around, twisting and dancing out of the other's reach, ducking under strikes and jumping back at aimed stabs. The blood on their swords glittered in the sunlight shining through the trees' leaves, of which had stopped making noise to watch over their prince, branches quivering nervously.

They surged towards and away from each other, feet thundering over the stained ground, an aura of animosity enveloping them like a suffocating embrace. Dûrion was clearly growing frustrated, a trait Arandur had always told him would one day prove disadvantageous, and Legolas, after looking up for the smallest of moments and realising that the battle was more or less over with Greenwood claiming the victory, knew that to stop the fight now would save needed time and injury. And so, with a particularly strong shove with his sword, he sent the ellon stumbling back.

From where he was watching intently a little way off, Arandur could not help but huff in disbelief – yet also pride – when the Prince, after pushing Dûrion, stuck his foot out and caused the dark-haired elf to trip and fall onto his back. It was a childish thing which used to immensely annoy the Captain every time he sparred with him and used that little technique – until, of course, he learnt when to expect it and how to overcome it – but he could not deny the fact that it had just proved greatly useful.

Legolas advanced quickly and moved around the elf as he made to get to his feet, kicking his hands free from his sword and placing his own against his neck. He buried his other hand in the dark tousled hair and pulled his head back, leaving his neck entirely vulnerable to the cold metal of his weapon.

Dûrion went still, swallowing thickly, and Legolas, panting heavily, leaned down so his lips were next to his ear. "Take me to my adar," he whispered, "or I will cut your throat."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Mellyn nin - My friends**

**Adar - Father**


	9. Game of Survival

Thranduil was sure he was dying. There truly was no other explanation for the way he was feeling. The wound was aching and throbbing, sending pain coursing through the entirety of his body. He was shivering almost violently, and his throat was as dry as the leaves in winter. The only thing keeping him upright was the beam he was leaning against – if it were not there, he knew he would be unable to prevent himself from dropping to the ground, weakness taking over.

He had never felt so drained in his life. His mind was fuzzy, as was his vision, and everything was numb. Each breath he took was an effort and felt like a knife to his very insides. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he was still conscious enough to know that if he slept now, he most likely would not wake up.

Glazed blue eyes cracked open as a shadow fell over him. It was Faelwen, as it had been the last two times she had come to check up on him, but he could not show any kind of acknowledgement. The pull of sleep was too tempting.

Faelwen looked at him with concern, taking in the vacant expression and pale skin and immediately feeling her heart flutter. He no longer looked like the regal king he was, and she highly doubted he cared much for that at the moment. It was evident he was suffering, and if the rapid decrease in his health since she'd tended to his wound was anything to go by, then she knew it was only going to get worse.

She glanced up as the door to the barn opened and watched Urúvion stride in, followed by four of his warriors. He looked over to her and his expression hardened. "Get away from him, Faelwen," he snarled, but she stayed where she was, crouched in front of him.

"We need to give him medicine," she told him.

Urúvion subconsciously tilted his head to the side. "No, we do not." His voice was low with a dangerous lilt coursing through it, but Faelwen was determined.

"Urúvion," she said, getting to her feet, "he _needs_ it, or he will not be lucid enough to understand that it is _his_ son you are killing in front of him."

He stepped towards her, dark hair falling about him. "His _son_ will be here soon. We have no medicine to waste on the likes of _him_."

"_He_ is what is holding your plan _together_."

"_I_ am what is holding our plan together." He strode closer to her and stopped once the two were practically touching, one scowling down, and the other looking up with an aloof expression, a large amount of bravery hidden in her eyes.

Thranduil was watching as well as he could, but he was beginning to fade in and out of consciousness, vision clouding every so often. His breaths were becoming ragged now, and the ringing in his ears was only increasing. Everything was fading…

"And yet if he dies now, your plan will be for nought." Faelwen stared up at him, big eyes unblinking, as Urúvion attempted to keep his anger under control. From the looks of things, Thranduil guessed it was a common occurrence for the two to disagree on something. The elleth looked far too calm when faced with her angry husband for it to be a one-time thing, though he supposed her sheer resolution helped take her many places. He knew all too well where willpower could get an elleth if she truly tried.

He looked ready to snap back at her, but something made him stand up straight, words halting at his lips. He turned his head, and the King noticed confusedly that Faelwen did the same, as well as the other ellyn in the room. It was strange to see, for he, quite frankly, could not make out anything other than the ringing, but he knew they must have heard something unusual, for the looks on their faces were ones of pure alarm. He put all he had into moving his head to turn towards the door, but it felt like dead weight, completely paralysed.

Urúvion looked at him for a moment before turning panicked eyes on the other ellyn across the barn. He stepped away from his wife and hurried over to them. "What was that? It was a crash… I heard a crash."

The next sound was loud enough for Thranduil to hear, and his ears perked up at the large bang that had decidedly come from outside the wooden walls. He flicked his eyes over to Urúvion, who twirled his sword around in his hand before pointing towards the door. "Go and see what is happening," he told the warriors, and they immediately moved to follow his orders. Thranduil watched them leave. His curiosity was piqued, now, and he doubted there was anything else keeping him conscious. His blue orbs followed the ellyn as they rushed to the door, and they widened in shock when it swung open before they could reach for the handle.

Urúvion looked on with a mixture of both anger and disbelief as about twenty or so warriors who were most definitely _not_ his own filed into the barn, all brandishing swords and the like. Legolas walked in last, eyes instantaneously searching for the one he had come for, and Thranduil was unashamed to say that the sight of him caused tears to well in his eyes and a soft smile to grace his lips. He slowly turned his head away and focused on his breaths. Death had absolutely no say in the matter anymore. He _would_ live.

"I believe you are looking for me." Urúvion whipped his head around to face the Prince, and immediately took him in.

"_You_ are what we fought for?" he scoffed, stepping forward, unbothered by the swords that only stretched further to point straight at him. "_You_ are what cost me my son?"

Legolas shook his head as the ellon drew closer. "_I_ did not cost you _any_thing," he spat back. "It was those _orcs_ who took your son, _not_ me. It was _your_ choice, _not_ mine."

Urúvion dipped his head and let out a low growl. "A choice I would _gladly_ _take_ _back_!" And he charged, an ear-splitting yell escaping his lips. Legolas immediately moved to fight back, noticing how his warriors began to raise their swords against Urúvion's in the barn. Some of them moved outside to help with the others – he would have called it a battle, but the fact of the matter was that, despite the apparent years that had gone into planning this (as Dûrion had told him, among other things, on their way to the village), they were simply too unprepared for it to be called as such. They had brought mostly all their warriors to the ambush, leaving barely anyone at home to fight them. Their pure insistence that they _would_ trick him and capture him had, in the end, been their downfall. If they had thought about the odds against them, and acted a little more humble concerning their abilities, then perhaps things would have gone differently… but they hadn't, and for that he was beyond glad.

Urúvion was a good swordsman, but, much like his son, his ire was quick to take over. There was power in every move he made, but the trick to winning a battle was keeping your emotions at bay. Head over heart. Arandur had drilled that into him daily when he was but an elfling – _"How can you fight if you are so concerned with your feelings? You must learn to put them to the side and listen to what your brain is telling you." _– and it had taught him to put up a shield during battle. Granted, he sometimes lowered that shield, but Arandur was always there to hoist it right back up again. Urúvion clearly had not been taught such things, though it didn't surprise him. He had most likely been taught the basics of fighting by his father, as most village elflings were unless they joined classes within the palace's walls, and had used those to defend him and his mother all those years prior. Revenge had pushed him to polishing those skills and improving them, and it seemed as though he had only continued to drive Dûrion in the same direction once he was old enough.

It was only the two of them, now, Urúvion's warriors having surrendered. They danced along the barn floor, hitting metal against metal, the other ellyn moving out of the way while they watched. Thranduil had been untied and was leaning heavily against Andaer as the chief healer focused his attention on his leg, but his eyes were trained on his son, watching his every step. Legolas moved with a practiced ease, so clearly the better fighter among the two, and that was quickly proved when he pushed back on Urúvion's sword and sent him staggering back into the arms of one of warriors and best friends – Caldir. Caldir swiftly trapped him, and Urúvion dropped his sword, which was kicked away by Legolas.

"Maldor," he said, eyes not straying from Urúvion's struggling form but slightly lifting his arm in acknowledgment, "please ensure the Captain is not in need of any more help out there. If he has not begun to do so already, help him search the houses for others." Maldor nodded and took a few of the warriors in the barn with him outside while the rest of them worked on restraining those who had surrendered.

Urúvion glared at him, spitting when he stepped closer. "How did you know?"

Legolas rose both eyebrows. "Though you seem to think you know me, you do not. I am not as foolish as you believe. I will admit, it was your son who slipped up no small amount of times, but I know it would have been you telling him what to do." He shook his head and exhaled deeply. "Do not think we wouldn't have found the King eventually, even if you _had_ thought through your plan a little more." He stepped closer, eyes like cold ice, and steeled his expression. "You were always going to lose," he whispered.

Urúvion's eyes narrowed, and in a second he had kicked Caldir in the knee and quickly broken free from his hold, snatching up a dagger he had hidden around his belt and charging straight for Legolas. The blond hurried backwards, holding up his sword in preparation for attack, but the moment the ellon moved to stab the dagger straight through his heart, he was harshly pushed out of the way and stumbled back into the ellyn behind him.

He could not say anything. Nobody could.

Thranduil's mouth was partly open, watching with wide eyes as Urúvion dropped to his knees. "Faelwen…" the dark-haired ellon breathed out, hands fumbling over his wife. "What- what have you done?"

Faelwen looked up at him through glassy eyes, the dagger sticking out of her chest. A growing red stain encircled it, crimson drops leaking onto the ground and running over the large hands resting beside the weapon. She swallowed thickly and blinked, weakly lifting her right arm to grab onto one of the hands. "He would not have wanted this," she told him, quiet voice breaking. "You know that. Stop letting your grief consume you, Ruvi. You let yourself get this far… _stop_ it. Please." She looked utterly broken, and for the first time in his life, Urúvion realised that that was _his_ fault. He shook his head and leaned down, pressing his lips to her own, but they had gone cold.

Legolas was not quite sure what to say. One look at his father told him that this elleth had been someone he had grown to know, but either way, who was she to step in front of a weapon meant for him? If his assumptions were correct, and this was Dûrion's mother, then surely she would hate him as much as her husband did?

Silence seemed appropriate, and so, respectfully, they let Urúvion have his moment. The only sound came from outside, where Arandur was clearly shouting orders to tie up those they needed to before combing the rest of the village.

Legolas turned his head up and over to his father. He was staring at Faelwen, devastation clear in his eyes, and it was at this exact moment that he was given the opportunity to truly look at the King since he had walked into the barn. It was taking three ellyn to keep him upright, and even then, he was terribly slumped against Andaer, and his head was lolling almost completely to the side. One of his legs was stretched out in front of him and being looked over, and though the arrow clearly was not there anymore, there was a huge dark patch on his trousers, and the fabric was ripped. His skin was pale, breathing ragged – he could pick it up even from where he was standing – and his eyes were droopy, which was strange since they were always so sharp and alert. He looked _sick_. And it made him _feel_ sick.

He averted his gaze and took a deep breath in, telling himself that his father would be fine, before blinking and looking at Urúvion, who was bent over his wife. He was completely still, and though the Greenwood warriors had the tips of their swords pointing straight at him, he looked about ready to jump into action at any moment. "Urúvion," he spoke up, piercing the silence, "we have you surrounded."

The ellon shifted only slightly and lifted his head the smallest amount. "So you have," he responded, voice hoarse. Legolas glanced up, turning to motion to Caldir in a silent order to get him to his feet, but the moment he turned away, Urúvion leapt up with a shout and rushed straight towards him like a mad-man. He barely had time to take in his tear-streaked face before an arrow briskly embedded itself in his forehead and he halted, falling in a heap on the floor. The Prince turned, heart racing – he was right to say he had had enough of surprises for one day – and let loose a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding at the sight of Arandur stood by the door, bow newly free of an arrow.

He sighed shakily. "You really do like to rub your so-called title of 'Saviour of the Prince' into everyone's faces, don't you?" he asked quietly when the Captain made his way over to him.

He shrugged, bending down to pull the arrow out. "What can I say? I am a stickler for tradition!"

Thranduil stared over at Urúvion's lifeless body on the ground, lying next to Faelwen, the dagger still rooted in her chest. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, but he was unsure as to why it was there. Was it because he was finally free, now that his son had come to his rescue? Was it because of the pain he was feeling all over? Or was it because of the bodies on the floor, and the elves now being held captive by his own warriors? The bodies and elves that had become something different – something _bad_ – because of _him_? The bodies and elves that had wanted nothing more than vengeance for their lost souls… for the friends and the families they had lost in the battle that had saved _his_ son's life…?

He did not know. Perhaps it was all of them. Perhaps he was simply too overwhelmed that he was unsure as to what he was supposed to think. _Allowed_ to think.

And those were the thoughts raging inside his mind when darkness overcame him, and he lost the light he had been holding onto since he'd arrived at this Valar-forsaken place.


	10. Petal by Petal

A tap on his thigh was the last thing Arandur expected to feel on his walk around the forest. Stopping in his tracks, he rose an eyebrow before twisting his body around and tilting his head down. A smile graced his lips not a second later, and he turned around fully before crouching down.

"Well, hello, there," he said softly, and the elfling in front of him grinned shyly. She lifted a hand from behind her back and held it up, a daffodil pinched between her thumb and pointer finger. Arandur made a noise of awe and placed a hand over his heart. "For _me_?" he asked, and when the elfling's smile increased with a sharp nod, he took the flower from her and tucked it behind his ear. She giggled, a happy sound which immediately lifted his spirits. "Thank you, penneth," he said, and she blushed prettily before turning around and scampering off, little braids whipping behind her.

It was the morning after the battle that had occurred between the village and the Greenwood warriors, and the sun was shining as though no blood had been shed at all. Thranduil had greatly benefitted from the healers which they had brought with them and seemed to already be in better health. As he had expected, the little poison that tipped the arrow in his leg had begun to course through his veins and take power over his body – something Urúvion clearly had not known the dangers of – but with proper medicinal supplies, and a magic the healers in Greenwood possessed that the ones in the village didn't, the poison had been drawn out, and the King was back on the right path to healing.

As for everyone else… Arandur heaved a sigh as he got to his feet and turned to walk back to the village, nodding at the warriors he passed who were standing guard. Both Urúvion and Faelwen had been laid to rest in the clearing at Thranduil's request, alongside all else who had died in the battle. As for the King's own warriors – which, thankfully, weren't many – they were to be taken home and given to their family, as was customary and respectful. Lairion had received the same.

Everyone who had surrendered, of which there were far more compared to the number of deaths, were tied up and being guarded in the barn. Those still healing from wounds were under watch. Meanwhile, an elleth who claimed to have been a friend of Faelwen's had offered up her house for the King to rest. She had two children, both of whom saw it as their duty to consistently check up on him and ask him if he needed anything. The elleth had apologised so many times she was sure he was getting tired of hearing the words, but he reassured her every time that he had far too many experiences with elflings to know how to find his way around them.

And, so, he had sat them down on the bed he was lying on, and told them stories of great battles and victories – many of which were made up, but of course their childish minds did not care or recognise the fact – in return for some hours of rest. Legolas had found that amusing, not least of all because he remembered a time when he had been put in a _very_ similar situation as an elfling after his father was injured in a patrol.

Arandur could see him, now, talking to a healer outside the house the King was in. As he approached them, Legolas excused himself and walked over to meet him. "When do they think he should be alright to move?"

Legolas crossed his arms over his chest. "Tomorrow, Barathon says, if everything stays as it is."

Arandur nodded. "Good." He glanced over to a group of ellith at the far end of the village, washing laundry in a pool while three or so elflings played nearby.

Legolas, meanwhile, frowned and tilted his head a little to the side. "Is that a flower in your hair?" He rose an eyebrow and watched as the Captain looked back at him, confusion written in his eyes, before he made a face of realisation and gained quite a smug smile while he crossed his own arms and nodded proudly.

"Yes, it is. Do you like it?"

Legolas snorted. "You look _very_ beautiful, Lady Ara," he teased, chuckling when his friend rolled his eyes and playfully shoved him before the two moved to walk into the house.

* * *

Thranduil was awake when they moved into the small room, leg silently being rebandaged by the chief healer that had accompanied them. He looked up as they entered and smiled with a nod of respect. "The wound is looking much better, Hir nin," he said, turning back to Thranduil.

"Good," he replied quietly. "Thank you."

As the healer finished up, Legolas seated himself on the edge of his bed while Arandur dragged a small chair over to him. Thranduil remained silent, staring up at the ceiling, simply thinking. He had been doing a lot of that recently; his mind had been playing over the last couple days, connecting dots and attempting to make sense of it. Now he was feeling better, his mind was properly functional once again, no longer riddled with poisonous thoughts and the like. He thanked the healer once again as he gathered his things and left, before turning his head slightly to smile at his son, lifting a hand to place on his own.

Legolas glanced down at it and offered his father his own smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, as though worried any sudden movement would make him disappear again.

Thranduil heaved a sigh. "Better," he told him. "Ready to talk."

Arandur leant back in his seat and crossed one leg over the other. His eyes gained somewhat of a distant look. "As am I."

"You remember him, then?" Thranduil asked and Legolas frowned. Dûrion had told the two of them his village's story, and what exactly it was that his father had been trying to achieve, but a lot was still proving confusing. He had wanted to ask questions, but the King had only just managed to form a coherent sentence, and there had not been much time to sit down and properly talk. Nevertheless, now seemed to be perfect, and the three of them were all too ready to make the most out of it.

The Captain nodded almost gravely. "Yes, I remember him, as I remember other faces in the group of prisoners out there." He shut his eyes briefly. "Carrying something on your shoulders is bad enough, but when you are the only one left to remember this something, and when there is nobody else you can share it with who would possibly understand… you begin to make yourself forget." He glanced up at Legolas, who was watching him intently. It was clear to the Prince that he was talking about the battle between the orcs and the warriors guarding his mother, but it was still so strange to hear him discuss something he had only ever talked about when he had informed his father of the battle's aftermath all those years ago. He was, after all, the only survivor – alongside himself of course. He had never properly thought on the matter, but it seemed as though his friend was finally letting it out. "Not on purpose," he continued. "Your mind… _paints_ over what happened, and you start failing to remember certain things until it is all gone." He shrugged absently. "That is what I did. I buried everything that happened so deep down that I forgot. And I forgot because that was what I _wanted_. I no longer wished to continue carrying it all on my shoulders… not alone, anyway. The only thing which brought those memories back was fighting in the clearing. An image of a young ellon handing me a baby bundled in a white blanket before he fell to the floor resurfaced almost immediately to my mind… and I realised that that was the exact clearing _it_ had happened in." He looked up from his fidgeting hands and sadly smiled at the King. "I know what happened," he said quietly. "I took you, Legolas, and thanked Urúvion and his remaining warriors for all they had done. They asked me to send help, for they knew their injured would not survive otherwise… and I promised help would come."

The room fell silent for a moment before Thranduil shifted in the bed, bracing his hands against it and pushing himself up. Legolas moved to help him, but he brushed it off, easing himself up to lean against the headboard. "You told me, didn't you?" he asked, though he was sure of the answer.

Golden eyes met blue, and silence ensued once again until Arandur sighed and nodded once. "Yes, I did. I told you what happened at the battle, as you asked, but once you had been told and I attempted to explain that those who had helped were severely injured and in need of our assistance, you sent me out. Any further attempt to get you to understand seemed to be utterly lost, which, I suppose, it was. I myself tried to send a group of warriors out with some healers and medicinal supplies – a pitiful amount, but it may have saved some lives all the same – yet they never made it past the gates…" He sighed again, distractedly biting his bottom lip.

Thranduil nodded slowly. "I made it so that nobody could enter or leave without my consent," he said vaguely, before shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "I am a fool. I was so blinded by my grief that I did not give a care to what you were telling me."

"Do not blame yourself." Arandur leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "I am also at fault. I should have persisted more, or found a way to get them to the village without you knowing – excuse the talk of betraying my king – but I did not, and eventually, after many failed attempts, I put it all in the back of my mind and soon made myself forget."

Thranduil reached over enough to clasp his shoulder when he looked down at his boots as though ashamed of what he had done. "Arandur. The moment Thalion died, Urúvion lost all sense. If help was going to be sent, it would have needed to be sent before his son passed. Anything after and I would not have put it past him to kill whoever it was bringing him the supplies."

Legolas looked on with a dimmed spark in his eyes, wondering when exactly the right time to speak was. He felt out of time, here… thrown into a situation in which he truly did not know the correct words to say. He had _been_ there, of course, but it had been many, many years ago, and he'd been far too young to remember a thing. It was still strange, though, how a lot of this situation they were finding themselves in was all due to the fact that he had been saved as a baby. Him. Yet he had nothing to say about it.

Sighing, he glanced down at his hands. "What was Thalion like?" he asked, flicking hopeful eyes back up to Arandur.

Arandur looked at him for a moment before sitting back and stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. "Well," he said, "I did not meet him properly, of course. I interacted with him only briefly, and that was when he handed you to me. But from that alone, I could tell he had a heart of pure gold. I can remember him rushing towards the Queen when she fell from her horse…" He briefly glanced over at Thranduil to see him staring a little dismally at the floor by his feet. "The orc was ready to kill you, Legolas, but he jumped in and took the dagger himself."

"Like Faelwen," Legolas noted quietly.

Arandur nodded. "Mhm. Yes. He stabbed the orc in the end and handed you to me when I ran over." He shook his head. "I believe I am right to assume that he was much like his naneth. Dûrion, however… I would say he took after his adar, but if that day of the battle was anything to go by, then I know that Urúvion had not always been so cold."

He had changed since, and it was no secret, just like it was no surprise. As Alassiel's death had changed Thranduil, Thalion's had changed Urúvion. And yet, where the King had eventually reverted back to himself, Urúvion had remained as he was… stone-hearted and full of rage. Both Thranduil and Arandur felt somewhat responsible for that, even if it had not completely been their fault.

"Legolas?" He started at the sound of his name and lifted his head to see both elder ellyn looking expectantly at him. "Are you alright?" his father asked.

He nodded with a comforting smile. "Yes, I am fine. I just… well. I am unable to not feel rather at fault here, too. And I know it is a stupid thing to think… I was a new-born at the time… but Thalion would not have died saving me, and therefore Urúvion and Faelwen would still be here, happy…"

Arandur shook his head, holding up a hand to quieten him. His face adopted the expression which the Prince recognised as one of utter seriousness. "If you were to blame yourself for their deaths, then you would simultaneously be blaming yourself for your nana's death. Do you?" He shook his head, and Arandur nodded. "There we go, then. Even if their lives were in any way given up for your own, then they sacrificed themselves for someone _very_ special." He rose both eyebrows in a challenging manner, and Legolas responded with a soft smile, nodding and taking a deep breath.

"Alright." He looked at Thranduil, who was staring at him with glassy eyes, the corners of his lips upturned slightly, and took his hand in his own yet again. "We have sent for Elrond, Ada," he told him, figuring enough had been said for them to feel right about moving on. "He should be here within the next few days to see if there is more he can do for your leg. I…" He hesitated for a moment, but the encouraging look in his father's eyes pushed him forward. "I think we should host another night of celebrations for Nana," he said with a small shrug. "One that we can both enjoy and commemorate properly."

Thranduil's smile widened and he squeezed his son's hand. "That is a fine idea, tithen lasse. We shall see to its planning the moment we return home and wait for Elrond and the twins to arrive before it takes place." He chuckled inwardly at the way his son's eyes lit up at the mention of the twins. What with everything that Legolas had been through recently, it only made sense that he would receive some sort of reprieve at the end through the two rampant sons of Elrond's presence in his kingdom, despite how unwilling he was to find out what sort of pranks the three would play this time around. He put the disturbing thoughts behind him, however, in favour of focusing on the happiness on his son's face.

"Thranduil." He turned to face Arandur. "What are we to do about the people in the village?" he asked, eyes alight with concern. "From what I have seen, the ellith were – and still _are_ – very much as keen to stay out of Urúvion's business as we were. We are keeping an eye on them, but they seem glad to be free of the burden of battle looming over them. As for the ellyn in the barn, some are but children, and even many of the other elders do not seem to be warriors at all."

The King nodded in thought, eyes training over to the open window where he could see a small group of children playing in the grass across the fields. "We shall help rebuild this village for the ellith and children," he decided, turning back to Arandur, "and those ellyn who wish to remain. All who seem at all displeased towards that, or towards Legolas and I, we shall take back with us. I have a good guess on who they may be, but we will see." His thoughts turned to the three other survivors of the battle he had been introduced to – Almárean, Orthorien and Nendir, their names were. He briefly wondered if their own thoughts of revenge had been the same as Urúvion's, and if they had even surrendered to his warriors or died alongside the others.

Arandur nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with the plan. Many of the elves in the village had, after all, wanted nothing to do with what Urúvion had put them through, and would have been happy to simply live their lives as they came and ask for help from the King should they need it. Urúvion had been selfish in a way; though he believed what he was doing to be vengeance for his son and everyone who had died fighting for Alassiel, he had not come to the realisation that perhaps there was a better way to go around things and appease to the other people's wants, not simply his own. Not everyone had felt the same as him, Faelwen being a prime example of that – she had lost just as much, and yet she had not let her grief subdue her and had stuck to the leadings of her kind heart – and yet he had automatically assumed that they had.

Grief could make a person do unheard of things, and they were all witness to that.

The sound of pattering feet caused three heads to turn, and smiles adorned their faces as the two elflings belonging to the elleth who lived in the house appeared at the doorway. "Nana asks if you would like sandwiches," the older one asked shyly, hands fidgeting in front of her, and Legolas turned in his seat.

"We would very much appreciate that, yes. Thank you, tithen pen." She nodded before turning around, yet her younger sister remained at the door. She took a step in and looked at the Prince with big shining eyes.

"Will you play with me?" she asked, not at all timidly, and Legolas's smile widened, an almost childish glint returning to his eyes as he stood to his feet.

"What should we play?"

"Hide 'n seek!" she replied, bouncing on her toes, and Thranduil chuckled at the sight.

"Alright. How about you go and get your sister and hide, and Ara and I will come and find you, yes?" He jerked a thumb in Arandur's direction, who grinned at the child, and she immediately gave both a toothy grin before rushing off, shouting her sister's name as she went.

The Captain stood and stretched. "So much for those sandwiches."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I shall save you some. Go and play with the children. They have been through much."

Arandur nodded in agreement and slung an arm around Legolas's shoulders as the two walked towards the door. "You may have to refresh my mind on how to play this game. It has been an _age_ since you've been young enough to rope me into a session."

"The rules are in the name, Ara. Someone hides and someone seeks."

"Mhm. Perhaps we should find you a flower to put in your hair along the way… I am sure I can persuade the ellith to tie them into your braids-"

"Oh, go fall in a river, _Arandur_."

"I did. Two days ago. And _you_ pushed me."

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Penneth - Young one**

**Hir nin - My lord**

**Naneth - Mother**

**Adar - Father**

**Nana - Mum/Mummy**

**Ada - Dad/Daddy**

**Tithen lasse - Little leaf**


	11. Rise Up

**A/N: And here we are... the end of the line. This story has been my baby since I started writing it, and I'm so happy I got to share it with you! Thank you to all those who reviewed, favourited and followed! See you next time. :)**

**I added in the name translations used in the story at the end of this chapter, in case you were curious! (I didn't actually realise I had written so many until I had them all down, so I only picked out the most important/meaningful of the names).**

* * *

Thranduil glanced up as the door to his study swung open and Elrond all but stormed in, robe billowing out behind him. His grey eyes were menacing, and his head was shaking in what seemed to be absent disbelief while he made his way over to the desk he was sat at.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap, raising a dark eyebrow with practised ease. "And what has you in such a delightful mood this morning?"

Elrond huffed – a very uncommon thing for him to do. "Our delightful sons, of course," he told him, trying hard not to grit his teeth in agitation. "They thought it would be absolutely _thrilling_ to put a live squirrel in my wardrobe. I swear to Eru… it jumped out at me the moment I opened the door and my heart leapt to my throat." Thranduil chuckled softly and his friend just about refrained from rolling his eyes as he strode over to the small bag of bandages and such that he had left on a chair the previous day. "They will not do such things to you this time around because you are injured."

Thranduil's other brow rose incredulously and he turned in his chair. "Oh, I highly doubt _that_ will stop them, Elrond."

Despite himself, the elf lord laughed. "I suppose you are right." He picked up a roll of the white material along with a couple vials of some sort of paste before walking over to his friend and crouching beside his leg. "How is it this morning?" he asked, waiting for Thranduil to tug off his boot and roll up his trouser leg before setting to gently unwind the bandage around the healing wound.

Thranduil sat back and heaved a sigh. "It does feel better, actually," he said. "Whatever you have been doing to it since you arrived is definitely working, so do not stop now."

Elrond chuckled. "I do not plan on it, don't worry." Once the bandage was off, he peered closely at the site in which the arrow had pierced him. The poison was certainly slowing the healing time down, but it was to be expected, and so wasn't a cause of concern in the healer's books. "Well," he said, sitting back on his haunches and reaching for the vials, "it is certainly _looking_ better."

The blond tried not to flinch as the paste was lightly spread over and around his wound. It was a delicate area and he was reminded – painfully – that it was still there with every single step he took. Getting back into things had proved to be difficult, despite him not having been gone for a large amount of time, but though it had almost been a week since it all happened, everything still seemed fresh. He had expected it, of course, but it still proved hard to cope with. Being shot, kidnapped, close to death and rescued in the space of less than three days was not something he was going to recover from immediately. He had heard that many a time from Elrond since he and his sons had arrived.

"Do you suppose I will be able to last tonight's celebrations?" he asked as a way of distracting himself from the slight twinges of pain.

"Well, you may have to sit down a fair amount, but I do not see why you should not," Elrond replied. He picked up the new bandage and swiftly and expertly wrapped it back around his leg. "How has Legolas been?"

Thranduil sighed, leaning over to pull his trouser leg down and reaching for his boot after voicing his thanks. "He has definitely perked up since you arrived, that much I am sure of," he told him. "He was quite down after leaving the village, but I suppose the whole thing took its toll on him as it did me." He absently fidgeted with his intertwined fingers while Elrond took a seat across from him, draping one leg over the other and leaning back. He watched his friend carefully, ever the sharp-eyed, compassionate ellon known for his friendly advice. Thranduil lifted his head a moment later and turned to him. "Do you know, it was his idea to bring the secret party of warriors? He commanded the attack, formulated it perfectly... Arandur told me he was quite the leader."

The corners of Elrond's lips turned upwards, and he nodded. "I am not surprised. He has the potential to be a magnificent king… much like his adar did at his age." His smile grew at Thranduil's breathy chuckle. "A proud moment, I am sure."

"Yes. Even though I was not there to see it."

Elrond looked at him for a moment longer before crossing his arms over his chest. "If there's something I have learned about children... it is that you don't always have to be there and see it with your own eyes to be proud of it. As they grow older, and they achieve more, there are often things you miss, or are not able to see... but, even if you do not know what they have done, you learn to be proud of them, nonetheless."

Thranduil smiled at the words, nodding in agreement. "He is growing up."

The raven-haired ellon smiled knowingly, a hint of sadness beneath it. He often forgot that Thranduil would of course cherish his son's growth much more than he had with his own children – he did, after all, have three, whereas the King had one. It was not as easy for him to feel melancholy every time the twins did something which showed their growing maturity, because he knew he still had his young Arwen. Nevertheless, Thranduil was only able to experience it once, something the Lord of Imladris did not envy one bit. "He grew up a long time ago, mellon nin," he said softly. "This whole ordeal simply gave him a chance to truly show you that. They all do at some point, I'm afraid." He grimaced at his next words, and his voice took on a faintly ill-tempered tone. "At least you can be somewhat relieved in the fact that they never get too old to stop playing childish pranks on their unsuspecting adars."

The King laughed musically, filling the room with a warmth that was not coming from the lit fireplace, and he shook his head. "Relief, indeed... I can only be glad of the fact that Legolas knows never to do it when the twins _aren't_ here."

Elrond rolled his eyes. "Mm... speak for yourself. When you have a certain balrog-slayer living with you as well…" He shivered, though a smile was quickly growing on his face. In all honesty, his sons' pranks kept him feeling young, and it coursed youthfulness throughout the hallways and corridors of the Last Homely House, something that he wished never to fade. "Will you be seeing to the prisoners today?" he asked after a short while.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, I have left Arandur to that, and Feren will draw a draft up on new agreements with the village for me to look over. I actually thought I might help outside with the festival preparations today… how do you feel about giving me a hand?"

His friend nodded, eagerness in his eyes. "Anything to get away from those elflings."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Thranduil exited his room and began walking down the empty corridors towards the gardens. He was dressed as he always was on an occasion like this – his best robes, shining black boots, and his silver circlet set atop his newly braided hair. Of course, that silver circlet would find its way into the hands of a servant and back in his room almost exactly after he had addressed the Kingdom with his speech… but there it would stay for now.

He cleared his throat as he continued walking, pondering over the words he had planned to say in his speech. He never usually experienced nerves beforehand, having performed many a speech in his lifetime as both King and Prince, but this time it felt different. The Kingdom had been made somewhat aware of the occurrences of the past week – not in full detail, of course, but they understood that their king had been taken captive for a short time and their prince had gone to take him back – but he did not want them to dwell on it for too long. A kidnapped king was a cause for concern, he understood that, but he did not wish for his people to be worried for his safety when there was no reason for it anymore. The speech he had prepared was an attempt at both discreetly reassuring them of that fact while also adding in a few things about the Queen's Day he thought necessary.

His ears perked up at two distinctly recognisable voices, and he smiled in greeting as both Arandur and Feren rounded the corner, apparently in discussion about something he assumed to be what they had been doing all day concerning the village and the elves they were keeping safe in his prisons.

"Ah, Thranduil!" Arandur greeted brightly. "We were about to come and find you." Both he and Feren moved to either side of the King and the three continued walking, slowing their pace slightly.

"I have not seen you all day. How have you been getting on regarding the village?"

"Quite well," Feren told him. "The council and I have arranged documents and such stating what is to be done there. The replacement of items that were harmed in the battle, for example, as well as help with restocking of medical supplies and food." He shook his head, turning to look at Thranduil. "According to some of the warriors who were there, the village truly is in an inadequate shape. Why do you suppose they did not request your help, as the other villages do when they are in need of it?"

Thranduil sighed deeply. "Urúvion was in charge of that village. He either believed I would not help if asked, just like- well. Just like before… or he did not want it. It is understandable, I suppose. Why ask someone you despise for help?" He swallowed thickly and reached up to tiredly drag his hand down his face. Arandur looked at him, concern swimming in his eyes.

"You are worrying about this far too much, mellon nin," he told him gently.

"It is guilt I am feeling, Arandur, not worry."

Arandur shook his head, pausing in his steps and crossing his arms over his chest. He frowned at him when he stopped after him, Feren following in his lead. "Why?" he asked, genuinely wondering. It had been a week, and the King had seemed alright during that time. Tired and a little drawn back, yes, but alright, nonetheless.

Thranduil dropped his hand back to his side and gazed at him almost dejectedly. "I know I should not feel it, you do not have to tell me that," he told him, "but I cannot help it. The things they said… they all blamed _me_."

Feren stepped into his view. "Not all of them."

"No, but a lot of them did, and if they did not, Urúvion made them believe it. What happened to that village was horrible, and they suffered through it for so long. If such an incident occurred within my kingdom now, I would send out whatever they needed to ensure they recovered." He let out a long breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "To know that an entire village has been living like that for so long… in my very own realm…"

Arandur shook his head and placed a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "The forest is a big place," he reminded him with a raise of both eyebrows. "It is impossible to keep track of all who live there, which is why we rely on _them_ to ask for help when needed. It cannot be your fault if they did not request it." He watched with a sad smile as the King lowered his gaze to his boots, obviously thinking. "Do not fret over it all. It happened, but it is over and done, and we are _both_ redeeming ourselves from any fault we had in it by helping the village _now_. Do not think you are the only one feeling guilt… I did, for a short while after we returned, but I fixed that by quickly reminding myself of what I am telling you now." He sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "Guilt is a terrible thing, but you must not let it overpower you. _What_ you must do, however, is enjoy tonight, and let it wash all your doubts away. Spend time with Legolas, and by the end of the night you will feel much better." Thranduil lifted his head and smiled faintly, nodding and reaching up to clap the hand on his shoulder.

"I suppose you are right," he relented.

Arandur rolled his eyes, stepping away as the three began walking yet again. "You _suppose_?"

"Yes," Thranduil teased, "yes, that is all you are getting." Both the Captain and the advisor laughed at that, and he let his smile widen before it fell once again and he turned to look at Arandur. "It may take me a longer amount of time than it did for you," he said, "but I am on the road to believing it, I promise you."

Arandur smiled and nodded. "That is all we can ask for."

* * *

"I wish to begin by thanking you all for attending the second of these celebrations for the Queen's Day." Thranduil's voice rang out, loud and regal, through the grounds on which thousands of his people were standing, smiling and listening intently to their beloved monarch. Legolas stood only a little way off beside him, far enough to give his father the light he needed for his speech, yet close enough still for him to feel included in the opening of the night and for Thranduil to feel comforted by his presence. Arandur stood with Elrond and the twins behind them, each silently giving their friend the support they knew he needed this once.

The setting sun cast a magical glow over the gardens, resting particularly on Thranduil and creating the illusion of him emitting a beautiful glow of orange and red and yellow. His circlet glinted in the light, and his eyes shone with unbridled delight at being stood in front of his kingdom once again. It was a beautiful scene, and one he believed his wife had had a hand in creating.

"Some of you may already be aware of the events which have occurred over the past week," he continued. "Dear lives have been taken from us, all of whom shall be missed terribly, and our kingdom has suffered an infiltration – something that is no longer of concern, I assure you," he added as a brief afterthought, noting a few people's worried glances. "The Queen's Day has always been more than celebrating my wife's passing… it has been about celebrating the lives of others, too; others who lost their lives fighting for her, such as the warriors that sacrificed themselves for their Queen and kingdom in the battle against the orcs, four hundred and ninety-three years ago." He paused for a moment, roving his eyes through the crowd. "I was recently made aware of a smaller group… a _brave_ group… who, unknown to me and therefore to you, aided our warriors on that day. They lost friends and family as some of you may have done, and they endured hardship in the time after, as we _all_ did. Nevertheless, if they had not been there on that day, then your prince would not be standing next to me, and your king would be a very different elf today. I admit that I have failed in my duty to acknowledge that… up until now. As I have said, the Queen's Day – a day in which I am late to celebrating, I know – has always been commemorated in memory of all those who died on that day for my wife, but today, we are recognising even more of those people, some of who are still with us today."

He turned slightly, reaching an arm out towards Arandur. "The Captain of the Guard, for example," he said with a smile in his direction, "saved Prince Legolas from the orcs and brought him home, and without him there, I would be sonless today." A soft look overcame Arandur's face as he briefly flicked his eyes over to Legolas before meeting the King's gaze once again and dipping his head with a tug of the corners of his lips. They both knew that Thranduil would still be lost without his best friend, even if he had not needed to save Legolas. That subtle thank you had a meaning bigger than anyone besides them knew. "My advisors and council, who kept my kingdom running during a time in which I was unable to. My healers, who worked tireless hours on those who had been injured in the battle. And, of course, all of you, who waited patiently for your king to be your king again." His smile widened when a chorus of cheers rang out into the night, and he waited a moment before raising his hand to silence it. Legolas passed him his glass of wine and stepped up to stand next to him. "So," he said, lifting his glass into the air, "this is for all who I have just mentioned, and more. For Queen Alassiel, for the warriors who died in her company… and for the warriors who died for me. For the elves in the village all those years ago who put their own lives behind them and my family's first. For Thalion, the ellon who took a dagger meant for my son. For Urúvion, someone who loved his child as fiercely as an adar should, and did what he believed to be best for his family… and for Faelwen, the elleth who showed me kindness even when she knew the consequences, and died for somebody she neither knew nor owed. They are no longer buried away… or hidden under stories which would not be stories without their presence." He raised the glass higher. "They are no longer forgotten."

"Here's to that!" Legolas spoke up. He moved closer to his father as praises and ovations and pure noises of agreement were heard yet again and the two took sips from their drinks. The look of utter happiness on his son's face instantly caused Thranduil to mirror his expression, and he drew him in for a tight hug not a moment later.

"Oh, I have missed your speeches, mellon nin." He chuckled as he moved from Legolas's embrace only to be enveloped in one of Elrond's.

"I am sure you have," he said.

"Perhaps you should give us lessons on that," Elladan suggested. "Ada says Ro and I are incorrigible at preparing speeches."

"That is because you are," Elrond told him with a roll of his eyes.

Elrohir clapped his brother on the back before moving to walk away. "Yes, well, you stay here and have lessons. Meanwhile, I will be over by the food. _Eating_."

"What else would you do with food? _Wear_ it?"

Arandur immediately began shaking his head, and he grasped the younger's twin's arm before he could make his escape. "You have money on an archery competition, young Peredhel, do not forget that." He rose his eyebrows, and Thranduil placed both hands on his hips.

"You have strung them into this, now, hm?" he asked. Arandur grinned rather impishly.

"They are not the only ones," Feren said with a sigh.

Thranduil's eyebrows rose higher, if that was at all possible. The twins could not help but laugh inwardly at the fact that it was almost in close competition to the height their father's could shoot up to when he so wished. "I am beyond glad to know that you all have so much faith in me winning this contest," he said.

Legolas shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "Perhaps it is time for a change, Ada," he proposed. "I, for one, am ready to be crowned 'archery champion'." He smirked at the look on the elder ellon's face before allowing himself to be dragged off by the twins towards where the competition was to be held.

Shaking his head, Thranduil let his mouth widen into a grin. He chuckled softly and began walking slowly after them, accompanied by Arandur, Feren and Elrond. A few others wishing to watch – or perhaps Arandur had persuaded them to put money into his bet – followed them a few paces behind. He wondered with a warmth in his twinkling eyes if Lairion's sister would find a small bag of coins on her brother's grave the next morning.

He was glad to see that the Captain's words on letting the evening wash away whatever he still felt towards the previous week's incidents was already proving to work. The laughs coming from his son and Elrond's up ahead filled his heart with happiness, and the exuberant chattering from the people around him and music flowing delicately through the night air was simply magical. It was exactly what these celebrations were about. Alassiel had lived for the pure joy and love that life brought. She had been a beautiful ray of sunshine, spreading happiness wherever she went, a sense of bliss trailing after her as though attached to her very being.

He had always said that his wife could not have lived her life any better if she tried. She had envisioned it how she wanted it to look, and then lived it the exact way. Even now, when she was no longer alive, Thranduil could feel her presence… dancing with the elflings, laughing with the ellyth, twirling and spinning around in the wild flowers, and singing beautiful songs of the wondrous Middle-earth they lived in.

Just like a bluebird.

* * *

**Elvish used:**

**Adar - Father**

**Mellon nin - My friend**

**Ada - Dad**

**Name translations:**

**Arandur - Care-taker/steward**

**Alassiel - Joyful/joy**

**Faelwen - Justice/fairness/merciful**

**Thalion - Hero**

**Dûrion - Dark one**

**Urúvion - Fiery**

**Lairion - Meadow**

**Feren - Beech tree (beech trees stand for many things, one being 'the changes that rise through realisation').**


End file.
